


Only One Way

by WilmaKins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, M/M, Out of Character, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 153,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: Strange was right that there was only ever one way to win this thing – and it STARTED with Tony dying.Of course, Steve had thought that was the end. Of everything. Completely broken, Steve ran and hid in the past after that... like he obviously always would.And, of course Steve found Tony again. And Tony helped him find himself, and find a purpose, and find a home, like he always did. Like it was meant to be. And it was.Steve was always meant to find this Tony – so that, together, they could undo EVERYTHING.Including everything they've just built...I'm tagging this for MCD just to be on the safe side, although, actually, that's complicated... But there is also a lot of cuddling and happy Steve/Tony in there too, for once!Further details in the notes, please feel free to message me if you want more details...





	1. Prologue

**The Original Timeline, 2023**

_After the end_

 

Doctor Strange had been standing on the porch, looking out over the lake, since Pepper and Morgan let go of Tony’s memorial.

 

Pepper had lost a part of herself, in that moment. Like a small part had been chipped away yesterday, and another piece would crumble away tomorrow. Today, it was the little part of her that was still waiting to say goodbye to him. Whatever comfort there had been in tearfully planning the things she would say, and the things they would remember him with, and the way everyone would feel about him… And now that too was done, forever. She knew that today was the last time that Tony’s death would be part of the current story, the last time Tony would in any way be a part of the present. After this, Tony and his heroic ending would be something that had happened, past tense.

 

She’d glanced back then, and seen Strange looking out over the water, and so nearly said it.

 

The pain she felt in that second was so intense that it threatened to tear itself out of her; she could feel it like a foreign object, an agonised scream that it hurt to contain. It had been like this since she lost him. The times that her constant, aching emptiness flared up into piercing sadness, or white-hot rage, or a penetrating, bodily fear. If she _had_ said it then, it would have come out angry. It would probably have come out hysterical, more an expression of her grief in that moment than her _actually_ asking the question.

 

But there was Morgan’s tiny hand, exactly the same shape as her fathers, holding on to Pepper like she was an anchor in this storm….and, of course, she had to be. She was Morgan’s mom. That made her more powerful than gamma radiation or super serum ever could have – it was enough to hold her together, _today_. That was astounding, really.

 

For Morgan, Pepper had managed to let go of that spike of rage…but not the question. The question had been the same for days, whether she calmed herself down or picked herself up. It was sometimes an angry question and sometimes a sad question and sometimes a frightened question… but always the same question.

 

She didn’t even think Strange could answer it. She didn’t believe for a second that she’d ever stop asking it, to herself, to God, to the concept of fairness itself. But she also knew that she _had_ to ask Strange. Today.

 

_Some_ things just had to be.

 

So, she waited until Morgan had fallen asleep, and most of the well-wishers had either gone home or drifted back into their own conversations...How they were getting home, and where they went from here, and what else they’d been thinking since it all happened… life carrying on, without him.

 

When she got to the porch, she had the oddest feeling that Strange was waiting for her.

 

For just a fragment of a second, maybe she _understood_ that unquantifiable power that Strange had… that Strange saw what she and Tony _really_ were, what they had been throughout time and become over time and come to be at the end of time. She’s been so thankful for, and so resentful of, the label of _wife_ , the completely inaccurate title that at least gave her _some_ claim to grief, some formalisation of a relationship that the world didn’t really have a word for… and now she was so relieved to feel like she could just drop it. That she could ask, as _herself_.

 

“I need to know… did Tony _have_ to die.”

 

Pepper spoke as calmly as she could. When Strange met her gaze there was such sadness in his eyes…something Pepper really hoped wasn’t regret. She honestly didn’t know what she was going to do if Strange said no.

 

“I know you said there was _no other way_ …so I guess it’s pointless me asking you if _that_ part was true. I guess I’ll have to accept you meant that… but I need to know what you meant _by_ that.” She swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat, and then made herself speak over it. “Because I can accept that there was no way to beat Thanos if Tony died on Titan, I have no trouble believing that he needed to be a part of any team that won… but are you _really_ telling me that there was no other outcome to that final battle? There was no other way, in all those millions of ways, _after_ Tony had done all that to get home from space and figured out how to travel through time and made his own infinity gauntlet – even after all that, there was _no one else_ who could’ve-” Her voice cracked, her face flushed with a sudden heat of imminent tears. But she didn’t look away from him. She kept his gaze and silently begged him _please tell me there was no other way_.

 

Strange looked at her for a few seconds, and wondered what he should do.

 

You might think that a Master of Time would never have that worry… but knowing the right thing to do is about so much more than knowing what might happen.

 

He _could_ explain everything to Pepper. She wouldn’t be able to change anything now, whatever he said to her, whatever she thought about it. Whatever she did.

 

Steve had already decided to leave. Steve would _always_ decide to leave, now.

 

The final stage of the universe’s masterplan was already in motion, and there literally wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. In fact, all things going according to that plan… maybe it no longer mattered what any of them did, about anything.

 

But would Pepper feel better for knowing that?

 

Because, yes, Tony had to die. Actually, Tony dying was more important than anything, _the_ significant event that decided whether the universe survived or fell into chaos… It had never mattered _who_ used the gauntlet, so long as Tony Stark was killed in the process. Would that be a comfort? To know that Tony’s heroic final moments were still of his own invention, that his death was inevitable and he’d still chosen to make the absolute best of it…?

 

But, then of course she would want to know _why_ Tony had to die… and the answer to that wouldn’t be a comfort. To anyone.

 

And no one would want to know that this whole thing wasn’t over. That there _wasn’t_ only one way to beat Thanos – but there had only ever been one way to do it _right_. If Strange told them that, _if he explained why_ , they’d just know that they hadn’t finished doing it right… why take that victory from any of them, now?

 

So, instead, he tried to remember his life as a medical doctor, and hoped he had the right face and tone for delivering news like this to a grieving loved one.

 

“I promise you Pepper, there was no other way but this. Whatever might have happened differently…in all the millions and millions of outcomes that there are, there simply isn’t one where Tony lives happily ever after.. _._ Either he gives his life to save everyone…or everyone dies in the end.”

 

It was as close to the truth as Strange could manage, and he could only hope it had been of some help to hear it. Pepper just nodded and left without saying another word. Strange watched her go, and sighed, and hoped she could find some sort of happiness after this.

 

What else was there, after all?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**The New Timeline, 2010**

 

****

 

Steve’s little _time travel GPS_ flickered every time he reached a new check point, and every time Steve would smile and say, _thank you, Tony_.

 

It didn’t mean anything, anymore.

 

In the beginning, Steve had felt a little moment of connection to Tony, every time he watched that device work. He’d felt a sentimental significance to it, more important than its scientific function. It was like a St Christopher that Tony had gifted him, _this will keep you safe while you travel._ And every time Steve had arrived where he wanted to be, neither an elderly man nor a toddler, he would feel it like Tony was giving his hand a little squeeze from…wherever you go, after…

 

But that was back at the beginning of all this, when everything felt different.

 

For his first few pit stops, it still felt like it _mattered_. Even if it was only in a narrative way, even if it was only for _him_ … It still felt like going to see Peggy, and The Commandos, and his mother, were all ‘things he had to do’. Acts of closure, if nothing else.

 

Steve had started out with a mission. Well, two missions – both of which had seemed significant and final, when he began.

 

Putting the Stones in their rightful place, fixing the scars they’d inflicted on the timeline and restoring the universe to order.

 

And then going back to those moments in his own past, the time he was always a man out of, and making peace with himself.

 

That was Tony’s idea, technically. Tony had suggested Steve try Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing on more than one occasion, espousing the therapeutic value of confronting your own past and the simple fun of seeing the world you grew up in. As the leading authority on waiting too long, Steve had never taken Tony up on the offer at the time. This had seemed like a final chance to take Tony Starks advice, when he began it.

 

The _first_ time he went to see a past version of Tony at least felt like a formative moment for Steve. A chance to go back to 2014 and have the conversation he always wished he’d had, about Bucky, and Tony’s parents, and the fact that Steve had always loved Tony, right from the start… it felt real, when he was doing it. Steve had felt cleansed afterwards. He’d felt like that was _a_ point to it, and that had been enough, once.

 

Steve wasn’t sure when the futility of it all dawned on him. When the meaning of it all melted into something he couldn’t define, and then something he couldn’t find… and then just disappeared. There wasn’t a specific moment in which he realised that none of it was real…

 

But it wasn’t. Steve couldn’t explain the deep, spiritual way he understood that now… but he knew it. He understood that, no matter what he said to Tony, no matter how Tony reacted or what it _might_ have changed…it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t _matter_.

 

Today, Steve had decided to gate crash the 2010 Monaco Grand Prix and make a scene… but if he jumped forward to 2012 afterwards, he’d find a world where it hadn’t happened. 2012 Tony wouldn’t remember meeting Steve two years earlier. 2012 Tony was always exactly as Steve had found him the first time. It was always as though, the moment Steve left wherever he was, the world reverted to exactly what it had been, his presence erased from everyone’s lives like a hypnotist’s trick.

 

Steve started off by simply assuming there was another reality out there. A real future he’d just created, a place where people were changed by his intervention, somewhere he simply couldn’t find…

 

But then he started wondering if those realities were always out there anyway, even before he made them, simply because he was _going_ to make them…

 

…and then he wondered if they all existed anyway, simply because he could _potentially_ have made them…

 

…and then he wondered if everything that could ever happen was already happening, whatever he did _…_

 

…Maybe he’d been doing this too long. If ‘too long’ was even a concept, here outside of time. Maybe the human mind wasn’t built to live in a world of abstract theory.

 

But, the more of his phycological supports that crumbled, the less he understood _how_ to go back. What that even meant, anymore…

 

Steve _had_ intended to go home, when he was done with this. He’d only meant this as a little time to himself, before he went back to his team and the new fight ahead of them – before he started all over again, rebuilt himself all over _again,_ in a brand-new world… But now he found himself wondering what point in this infinite mesh of time was the ‘right’ one, which one was really _home_ … how many versions of the exact same second existed, at the exact same time… why now and not later, if he’d end up in the same second anyway. What was the point of anything, in or out of time, if he was already stuck somewhere reliving every potential outcome for all eternity, anyway…

 

Somehow, he’d drifted here.

 

This was just what he was doing now, stuck in his own present because he’d lost all concept of the future. He’d stopped processing the deeper why, he’d lost all understanding of ‘when’ it would be over. He was just… a man out of time. Stepping in on various points in history, like someone flipping through a magazine in a waiting room. Having conversations for the sake of having them, just to watch what happened… just because.

 

The 2010 Monaco Grand Prix. Why not? See what Iron Man was like before he was an Avenger, just for the hell of it. Tell Tony that he loved him as his childhood hero rather than his friend, just to see how the reaction would change. Tell Tony that Natalie Rushman was Natasha Romanov, just for the shock value, just because he could. Where else should he be, if not here? Maybe he’d already done it, or was destined to do it, or was always somewhere doing this exact thing at some point in time, anyway…

 

The first time he’d met a past version of Tony, Steve had planned every single word. The first time had felt like his chance to do it right, it had _felt_ like mattered whether he blew it or not. The first time, Steve had been anxious, and scared, and shy – but prepared, and contentious, and trying so hard…

 

Now, he strolled right up to Tony with the confidence of a man who knew he was dreaming. Steve could see every thought in Tony’s head racing behind his eyes, trying to work out who Steve looked like and who he was really and how he could _possibly_ be… all pulling together into a single defiant look as Steve stopped in front of him. Tony had recognised and processed and accepted the impossibility he was witnessing, as fast as that – and squared up to it.

 

God, Steve loved him.  

 

“You’re Steve Rogers.” Tony sounded strange… but not scared. And it wasn’t a question.

 

Steve just put his hands on Tony’s arms, like he could – like he had, what, three, four times now? Like he might be doing in a million moments throughout the universe, all the time. He saw Tony melt back just a little when he met his eye.

 

“And _you_ are Tony Stark.” Steve told him, holding that gaze. He watched Tony take a little steadying breath, a fire in his eyes that he had no way to mask.

 

Steve knew this face so well. He knew every mark that wasn’t there yet, every freckle that had faded, every mood and thought and expression for all of time.

 

He missed not knowing.

 

He missed watching this like he had before. He missed _finding out_ , being part of this… being _with_ Tony in any timeline. Being with anyone…

 

As it was… he was just here.

 

“You know me.” Tony said, still not a question. His voice sounded endearingly young, somehow. Less scarred by life.

 

“You are the kindest, bravest and best man that there will ever be.” Steve told him simply – and, as always, it was here that Tony crumbled.

 

“Okay, so you don’t know me” Tony slipped into the performance, raising his eyebrows and trying to back away. Steve just kept his grip firm.

 

“Yes, I do. I know that you don’t let people hand you things, and it’s because you’re always scared you’ll miss something sinister that they’ve slipped into it. I know that you drink coffee however hot or cold it is. I know that you don’t let anyone drive you anywhere, and it’s because you blame your dad for the crash that killed your parents. I know that you hum commercial jingles and songs from the eighties while you’re working, and you eat gluten free waffles for breakfast, and you don’t think margarita should qualify as a pizza.”

 

Steve loved to watch when Tony was confused by something. It happened so rarely… it was pretty. The way those golden eyes flickered with thought, the way he almost licked his lips, every time.

 

“I have watched you playing as a little boy. I watched you enrol in college as a kid pretending to be a man. I have watched you build a company, and tear it down and build it up again. I have watched you fly a nuclear warhead through an alien wormhole, and take on a Titan with your bare hands, and become the most powerful being in the universe for just long enough to sacrifice yourself for it. And you are already all of those things, and always were.”

 

Steve had said these exact words before. Saying this held no meaning for him anymore. Watching Tony hear it didn’t really _mean_ anything, anymore… But Steve still liked it. It couldn’t _help_ now, it couldn’t soothe anything or redeem anything – those were things you felt as part of a process. A journey. Steve wasn’t on a journey anymore, not even theoretically. He was all parts of his journey, all the time, yet to learn everything and already after everything… Now, he was just looking. Trying to find the particular shade of hopeful vulnerability _this_ Tony would try to hide… just because it was pretty.

 

“I’m just telling you this because I like saying it” That part was just the thoughts in Steve’s head right now – because, again, why not? “I know I can’t change the future by going back into the past, I know you won’t remember, I know this is just one point in a linear path that we’re both on, forever… I just like telling you I love you, that’s all. And I like that for one imaginary moment that never happened…or is always happening… you know you were always meant to be the most powerful being in the universe. Just that.”

 

“Mr Stark?” And there was Nat, hovering at Steve’s shoulder. He smiled when he looked at her, the way he’d have smiled at an old photograph. She wasn’t real either. But still, it was faintly amusing to see her so obviously pretending to be someone else. Wearing a false face with the total confidence of knowing that Steve had never met her.

“Agent Romanov” Steve spoke softly. He harmlessly enjoyed the look of confused panic in her eyes. It was hypothetical, it was all hypothetical – a ‘can you imagine if…’ come to life. “Could you give me just one moment?”

 

But before Nat could answer his gentle curiosity as to how she would respond, Tony spoke up, his voice calm and thoughtful and… interested.

 

“Well, actually. That _isn’t_ quite what time travel is...”

 

Steve just stared at him for a second. And then he laughed. Really laughed.

 

“ _That isn’t quite what time travel is?”_ He repeated, incredulous and joyful. “Captain America has just risen from the dead to tell you he’s always loved you – and that your assistant is a SHIELD spy, by the way – and the first thing you do is _correct my understanding of time travel_?”

 

“Well, firstly, you didn’t tell me that Natalie-”

“Natasha.” Steve corrected, still smiling “Romanov. She works for Nick Fury, she’s writing a report on how suitable you are for the Avengers Initiative, and literally every single word of it is wrong. It’s funny, actually.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nat’s shell-shocked expression crack into a little pout, just briefly.

“…Okay, so, not gonna lie, that might have been the first thing I asked, if you’d said it…” Tony went on, trying to look around Steve and frown at Nat.

“Really, go on then.” Steve challenged, calling Tony’s attention back to him.

“Go on what?”

“Ask me all about Nat, if that’s what you’re interested in.” And he saw Tony’s brow crease in thought, a little gambler’s smile tugging at his lips…

“I can’t ask about both?” He asked eventually, and Steve laughed again.

“Let’s say you can’t – what do you do?”

 

But, of course, Steve _knew_ what Tony would do. What Tony would _always_ do. Steve just wanted to watch it.

 

“…I say again, I don’t think that’s how time travel works.”

 

And Steve knew it was just a memory of Tony – but it was _such_ the perfect memory of Tony. Of course this was what Tony would want to know about. _Of course_ Tony would challenge a time traveller on the mechanics of time travel.

 

Of course Tony would say it in exactly that way, his eyes alive with thinking, his shoulders set defiantly – still a part of him trying to steal a glance at Nat, because Tony would never accept a straight up choice from anyone else. _Steve_ saying that he couldn’t ask about both wouldn’t have mattered to Tony… That he didn’t ask about Nat, or any of thousands of questions any normal person would have asked, was simply that he was more interested in the other thing.

 

Whatever that quality in Tony was, Steve _wanted_ it.

 

Steve didn’t even know how long he’d been doing this, now. He’d lost count of how many places he’d stopped, how long he’d stayed in each of them… but it was never longer than a few hours, anymore. Less, when he didn’t need to stop and sleep.

 

And it wasn’t because he felt any particular urge to go, wherever he was… he just never had a reason to say. These days, he went to places with a little game in his head, or a curiosity, or a memory that had lodged in his brain like a catchy tune, that he just wanted to see out loud. A faceless beach or a nameless country road, occasionally, when he wanted to walk quietly for a while. Anonymous cities where he knew he’d always find a bed for the night and a change of clothes. Simple objectives, easily met.

 

This was the first time he’d done what he came here to do… and carried on being interested. The first time there had been a reason to stay and find out… what was Tony going to say? Not that it mattered. Not that it would change anything. Not that it was important. But then, nothing was important. All choices were ultimately arbitrary… if you’ve got to make one, why not the one that interests you most in the moment?

 

Steve wasn’t _staying_ , obviously. You can’t _stay_ in a daydream.

 

But it turned out he wasn’t going yet, either.

 

“Come with me now, let’s talk about how time travel works” Steve asked Tony, suddenly. He spoke on a whim, suggesting it as he thought of it. He wasn’t scared that Tony would say no, and he still hoped that Tony would say yes, and either way he got to enjoy how Tony’s smile twisted into something more suggestive before he answered.

 

“Sure, why not?”

 

“Hold on” Nat warned, her voice her own, now. Steve was smiling patiently when he turned to look at her.  “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Go on, then” Steve snorted, unimpressed. Nat frowned, confused. “ _Ask me_.” Steve clarified, holding himself tall, his voice dark. He watched Nat run her eyes over him, clearly considering her options.

“Where are you taking him?” She asked instead. And, for the first time in a long time, Steve had to think a few minutes in the future. This was the first time he’d had any sort of plan, however shallow, since everything lost all meaning. The first time he’d had to think about where he wanted to be, as opposed to waiting to see where he’d end up.

 

But now he wanted to get Tony somewhere on his own, so he had to think about how he was _going_ to get there… and he remembered.

 

_Vanko_.

 

Steve considered what was about to happen in a purely practical way.

 

He hadn’t been concerned by _the events about to transpire_ for a long time now. They were going to transpire anyway, exactly as they always had, at least in one version of reality… why worry? Steve had no real ideas of _changing_ events, even now. Only of altering them temporarily… rearranging this reality to better suit his personal needs, like the whole world was his private, therapeutic simulation.

 

Right now he _wanted_ to hold on to Tony, _this_ Tony, he wanted to hold onto _this_ moment, just for a moment. No why or what if or until when, just that. And Steve knew that the circumstances were about to distract him from that, so…

 

What was the simplest, quickest way to solve this…?

 

“Well, first, you, he and I have to go and disarm a lunatic with an electromagnetic whip…” Steve thought aloud, trying to remember this story as Tony had explained it. “Oh, wait, also – that’s Justin Hammer, right?” He confirmed, pointing.

“Er, yeah?” Tony answered “Also, lunatic with an electromagnetic what?”

“I’ll explain on the way, come on” He grabbed Tony’s hand, and looked over at Nat “You too – come on, we have world saving to do…”

 

Both Tony and Nat had followed him without another word. Neither of them even bothered to comment when, on their way out, Steve had paused – _casually_ – to punch Justin Hammer square in the jaw.

Hammer just dropped to the floor like a dead weight.

There was a soft gasp from the crowd of people behind them.  

Tony laughed an involuntary cheer, but that was it, before both he and Nat were pulled on by Steve’s determination.

 

And Steve was going to stop the Vanko thing, so that he could talk to Tony. That was all.

 

That was enough, for now.

 

*

 

Steve was only aware of the immediate present. And the immediate present was now this:

 

Steve was sitting in a hotel suite in Monaco, with Tony Stark.

 

Every single detail of his surroundings had been selected with care, for the benefit of the obscenely rich. The bed Steve was sitting on was made of the most luxurious materials, by the most skilled of craftsmen, with the intent of delighting every one of the senses. Every potential whim within arm’s reach, every conceivable comfort and convenience, right there.

 

The man Steve was looking at was _perfect_.

 

Tony’s skin was still flushed from their brief encounter with Vanko, the sunlight catching on that dark, silky hair, Tony’s eyes alive with thinking and feeling and wondering… He was lovelier than he’d ever be in a photograph or a hologram or a memory.

 

Steve could feel the adrenaline pulsing under his skin, still.

 

There was a time when that would have worried him. When Steve would’ve had to wonder what it meant. There was a time when Steve would have asked himself, _what sort of man responds like this?_ When he would have wondered – what would happen, if he did it?

 

But none of that mattered, now.

 

In the few hours after battle, Steve felt alive and powerful and hypersensitive.

In these strange times outside of time, Steve felt lighter and looser and… _free_.

On this particular day, with this specific Tony, Steve felt… Overwhelmed.

Excited.

_Desperate._

 

Tony was _beautiful,_ today.

Tony had been so strong in battle, so clever and resourceful and calm and brave…. And all the while so human, so… him.

And the _way_ Tony was looking at Steve…

 

“Okay. So. You’re here from the _future_ , right?” Tony said at last, his voice light and giddy and full of life. Steve felt himself grin before he could stop himself.

 

“I _want_ you”

 

Steve hadn’t known he was going to say that… but it was fun. It was _fun_ to watch the little double take that Tony did. Steve _liked_ the low heat he felt, the thrill of it…

 

And then Tony _smiled_.

 

“Okay. Fuck it. That first.” Tony shrugged.

 

And Steve felt this little lift inside him – _what, really_?

 

It would’ve been that easy?

 

…It wouldn’t have been that easy. This was already a thing that would never have happened.

 

A previous version of Steve would have worried about that, too.

 

This Steve just grabbed at Tony, _desperately_ – because, fuck it, this was what he wanted right now, right? He kissed Tony as passionately as he’d always wanted to-

 

And Tony _let_ him.

 

Tony parted his lips and relaxed his body and just _let him_ … and Steve didn’t know _how_ to care what it meant.

 

Everything melted from being a memory into being a fantasy. Steve’s hands ran away from him the way his thoughts did; there was just no line between imagining and wanting and doing. He wanted to _see_ Tony, so he stripped him. He wanted to _touch_ , so he did. He wanted to bite Tony’s skin and pull Tony’s hair and climb on top of him and feel every inch of Tony pressed against him – and then he was, like he was dreaming this whole thing into being. And Tony moaned, and gasped, and pleaded exactly the way Steve wanted him to, he kissed Steve back and clawed at his shoulders and arched up against him, just like he would have, in a fantasy.

 

Steve doted on Tony entirely selfishly. He simply did every single thing he could think of to make Tony feel good, just because he’d thought of doing it, and if he liked the noise Tony made, he did it again, and again. Steve said everything that came into his head, how much he loved Tony and all the reasons Tony was amazing and how good he felt.

 

And, God, it felt so good.

 

There was a point when there was _only_ how good it felt. A moment when all Steve understood was physical pleasure and physical need. A few, fleeting seconds when it didn’t matter that nothing mattered, because Steve would’ve been beyond that anyway…

 

And then it was afterwards.

 

Another version of Steve absolutely would have panicked because it was afterwards. Another version of him would have worried that he shouldn’t have, or worried about what he should do now. In another reality, there might be a Steve suddenly gripped by remorse, or guilt, or even hope…who knew.

 

This Steve just had Tony, flushed and breathless and still whispering _oh my God_ to himself, right there in his arms. This Steve just had skin that still tingled and the taste of Tony still on his tongue. This Steve was just right now, and it wasn’t before or after anything.

 

It never happened, really.

 

They never really did this – they were never even these people, in real life. It was all still just a fantasy.

 

“It’s okay, shhh, come here” He whispered sweetly, gathering Tony up and rolling so that Tony was cradled against his chest. Tony let him do that too… which surprised Steve, vaguely. Apparently, he’d expected Tony to be more distant, afterwards. Somewhere, maybe he’d thought that Tony wouldn’t like all this emotional stuff…

 

No, Steve didn’t like these thoughts. What he expected and what he remembered and what Tony _should_ be… what happened to _his_ Tony-

 

No, he didn’t like these thoughts, so he wouldn’t think them. He could do that now.

 

Instead, he just held Tony close and stoked his hair and kissed his forehead very softly. Steve was sweet to Tony because _he_ wanted to be – because he’d always just wanted to be nice to Tony, really, if only the world hadn’t complicated it so much…all those strange ideas about what was important, what things meant, what the consequences would be. He didn’t have any of that to worry about, here.

 

And, okay, there wasn’t any _meaning_ to any of it… maybe, if he could have chosen, he’d have rather had the meaning back. Even if it cost him these simple selfish pleasures. Even if it meant believing a myth…

 

But he couldn’t have the meaning back. And if life could only be play-pretend for him now, he might as well pretend something nice. If telling Tony all this didn’t mean _anything_ , it couldn’t mean that Steve was weak or their relationship would change or that Steve would have to exist in a world where Tony had rejected him, or whatever the fuck his problem used to be.

 

He wasn’t thinking about it.

 

He was just holding Tony, waiting until Tony decided to speak again.

 

*

“So, the thing about time is… it’s made up.” Tony said, maybe an hour later. He didn’t bother to lift his head off of Steve’s chest as he spoke. And Steve just smiled, and thought, _oh yeah, that’s how we got here_.  

 

“It’s actually just a human construct, a way of dividing and understanding and explaining our experience of the world. You know, there is a theory that, simply by _discovering_ time travel, you change the very nature of what time really is...”

 

Steve had always loved it when Tony talked like this. These sweeping, philosophical conversations that weren’t about any particular era or point of cultural reference. Conversations like this had been a safe haven for him, once. A place he could be interested and interesting and even an equal participant, when they got as far as the really abstract _what ifs_.

 

This wasn’t that conversation anymore. But it reminded Steve of them.

 

“And, actually, you can tell that it’s more of a philosophy than a science, because it changes depending on where you’re standing…”

 

Steve found himself repeating that sentence again in his head…

 

By now, Steve had forgotten why everything fell apart in his head in the first place. Was everything pointless because all the outcomes were already written, or because Steve was now free to write any outcome he liked? Did Steve hate that there were a thousand versions of himself, or did he just hate being alone? Whatever it was, he’d simply accepted it now – this was _after_ it had fallen to pieces. This was just where he was. Steve wasn’t looking for anything to make him feel better about this, didn’t know what questions he couldn’t answer…

 

And yet.

 

“But _something_ must be real, right?” Steve mused out loud.

“Real?” Tony murmured.

“…or, I don’t know… maybe not…” Steve continued on, to himself. Giving voice to just a few of these creepy, curdling worries, without even knowing he was doing it. This was the first time he’d dared to think about any of it in so long… and yet, at first, he hardly noticed. He probably would have stopped it, if he’d noticed. But it just sort of… snuck up on him. “…I keep thinking, something _must_ be real…but why must it, really? I mean, maybe it just…isn’t…”

“Or maybe lots of different things are real at once” Tony suggested, nonchalantly, like it was nothing-

 

But, oh, that was everything.

 

That _thing_ had always been everything. That quality Tony had of finding a third way, of making his own options, of _cutting the wire_. Of taking any impossible conundrum and _making_ a solution, out of scraps. Science, engineering, philosophy, that one time he crashed the suit into the side of a water tower when he was on fire – _everything_ was a source of inspiration, for Tony. Nothing was ever off topic or out of his field or outside of the rules, if he knew it. He could put the whole universe together in _any_ way he liked.

 

Steve knew it didn’t matter. He felt like it _shouldn’t_ matter, suddenly… but, Jesus Christ, at least he _felt_.

 

It had been a long time since anything felt...

 

Personal. That was it – this conversation suddenly seemed _personal_. As in, about Steve as he was _now_ , what he might’ve been thinking _now_. This memory or fantasy or imagining of Tony Stark had somehow found a way to speak to the impossible situation Steve found himself in _now._ For so long Steve had felt superior and detached from everything he walked though, already knowing who everyone was and what was going to happen. He had played the game where spoke purely for the reaction he got from others, and he had played the game where he just said exactly what _he_ wanted to say… but this…

 

Steve could _relate_ to this conversation.

 

…with a memory.

 

“Does that mean that there _are_ a thousand different futures out there now, where I did change something?” Steve asked, talking to Tony now… even if he was only talking to Tony in his head…

“Well… in one theory at least, there are all the futures where you stopped in for a day. Whether there are whole other universes in which you do _all_ the things you might have done is another layer of philosophy entirely… And that actually changes what time travel _is_ , if you think about it.”

“So how come I never end up in those endings?” Steve picked one of many questions he suddenly had.

 

“A theory?” Tony finally looked up at him “Well, you are _navigating_ this time travel thing, right? So maybe it’s literally just that you can’t aim for something you haven’t got a concept of. Maybe you can’t go somewhere if you don’t know what it looks like – hey, here’s a thought, bet you can’t go _forward_ in time from the point when you first discovered time travel, can you?”

 

And it occurred to Steve that he’d never thought of trying.

 

“I’ve only ever tried to go forward from where I am – I’ve never tried to go further forward than 2023, no.”

“Because you’ve never been there, so you don’t know what you’re aiming for – but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. You’ve worked out how to move backwards and forwards in time between your own points of reference, but not how to move _past_ your own frame of reference or… um… side to side?”

“So…I _am_ changing the future?”

“…depends on where you’re standing.” Tony shrugged. “Put it this way – if you leave now, and then _aim_ for a spot in 2013, you’ll only be able to find one you have a reference for, which is the one _you_ already saw. Not _the_ past, but _your_ past. And _that_ past will always be there waiting for you and it’ll always be the same – so then from your perspective, no, you don’t chance anything when you time travel. _But_ … if you stay here, you _end up_ in a 2013 you don’t recognise…” Tony laid his head down on Steve’s chest again. “But you know, what’s more interesting than either of those theories, is the idea that they’re _made_ true or otherwise by your own perspective... And that’s before you ask the questions about whether you _create_ alternative futures, or just move between eventualities that already existed… what happens to potential futures that could have existed if you _are_ creating these alternatives, but then don’t…” His final point was cut off with a yawn.

“Do you think… does time travel mean you _could_ live your life again?”

“Hm?” Tony murmured, looking at Steve without lifting his head this time. The sight of Tony looking up through his lashes, his lips still pressed against Steve’s skin, was almost enough to distract Steve from his question. Almost.

“…Could you go back to the start, and just live different choices?”

“Well, now, _that_ is a whole list of philosophical questions…” Tony smiled, sleepily “But the point, really, is that _that’s_ what you’re asking…” Tony’s eyes fell shut. “and it’s not a science question, is it? It’s not a practical question. That’s not you asking if something is possible or why something is possible or whatever, that’s you asking what does it _mean_ …” Tony’s words became heavier as they softened into nothing.

 

 

_No, don’t stop…keep talking_

 

Steve hadn’t felt that in so long. He’d stopped caring whether anything ended, now that he’d worked out that everything already had…or never did… He didn’t know _how_ he could feel any connection to a moment, when he knew all that…

 

But he _did_ feel it, in the moment.

 

“So, time travel is a philosophy, not a science…?” Steve pressed, just trying to keep Tony awake, now.

“’m’just saying, if you know that time is all about organising your own experience, it makes more sense.” Tony murmured, his eyes still closed. “If you acknowledge that you’re just using time travel to say other things.”

“Like what?” Steve prompted

“Like I wish I was somewhere else right now, or I wish I was a different person right now, or I wish other people didn’t know certain things, or I wish _I_ didn’t know things…” Tony’s voice had taken on a distant quality now, like _he_ had started talking to himself. “And all the headaches that come with that aren’t about science, they’re about what things mean to _us._ Because going some _where_ else doesn’t erase anything that already happened to you, or anything you’ve done, or what you know or who you are. You can use time travel to spend the _next_ few years of your life somewhere else. You can call it going back to the past, but really its just changing the circumstances of your present. Just giving yourself different options for what you do in _your_ future… I’m just saying, if you think about it… half the time anyone wishes they could travel through time, its only so they can change their life _now_ …” Another yawn, and Tony’s speech grew more slurred “ _Or,_ the other way of looking at it…”

 

“Go on…” Steve breathed.

“Well, obviously, if you _really_ want to live your life again, and stop regretting things, and get to experience your first time again, but better, and really be a better person blah blah blah – then you just have to forget the first time, that’s all. Go and find a younger version of yourself and tell them stuff, drop them into a better place, and watch _another_ you go to better places from there. That works, scientifically. But it doesn’t work philosophically, so it doesn’t work…”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t work philosophically?” Steve asked, when he realised Tony wasn’t going to carry on.

“Shh” Tony pouted. “Ask me t’morrow…” And Steve actually felt Tony melt fully into sleep right there in his arms, like he’d been built to fit there…

 

And for the first time in a long time, Steve felt a moment slip away from him…

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve woke up alone.

 

There were those few, heady seconds between waking and dreaming… those would always be the same, apparently, whether he was a child in the nineteen-twenties or a man lost in the vast nothingness of time. Even Steve got that moment when he expected to remember where he was, when he still just assumed it mattered…

 

But then he’d remember that he wasn’t anywhere – literally.

 

That it didn’t matter anyway.

 

By the time he opened his eyes Steve was back to not expecting anything in particular. Back to not minding either way. He simply stretched, and noticed how nice these sheets felt against his back, and didn’t even bother wondering how he got here. He made no effort to remember the night before-

 

And then he just remembered.

 

At first it was just one moment. A sudden, vivid memory of Tony’s voice, muffled against Steve’s neck, imploring _please, please, please-_

 

His body processed that memory before his head did. There was an instant rush of heat up through his chest, a low stab of urgency, pleasant _and_ painful. He was already hard. And then Steve remembered the way Tony writhed beneath him while he spent minutes upon minutes kissing his neck and his shoulders and his chest. He remembered the way Tony murmured increasingly frantically as Steve pursued an impulsive determination to touch every inch of him, the way Tony just let Steve lift him and move him however he wanted to. He remembered calling Tony sweetheart, and darling, and _my Tony, my perfect Tony…_

 

And then his head finally spoke up to observe – _that was all a bit much, wasn’t it_?

 

Steve felt his cheeks tingle in a not unpleasant sort of blush, and he smiled. He felt harmlessly self-conscious, like he might have if he’d been watching a baby video of himself. He couldn’t really be _embarrassed_ by it, per se… after all, this Tony didn’t even know him. Steve wasn’t even here, really.

 

But, yeah, thinking through some of his gushing confessions of love… More than a bit much, in places...

 

_Oops._

_Oh well…_

 

Still smiling, he sat up and looked for his clothes. He thought, vaguely, of getting new ones from…somewhere… before he left…

 

_Unless Pepper is somewhere getting them dry cleaned right now._

 

And with that, it occurred to Steve what he was actually doing. Or, at least, one version of what he was actually doing

 

Viewed from one perspective, he was a very enthusiastic blonde groupie waking up after a one-night stand with Tony Stark. He was one of those people who espousing undying love for a famous stranger – one of the people Tony used to sleep with once and run away from. Oh God, he was Miss October.

 

That was hilarious.

 

Steve was almost disappointed when he saw his clothes folded, neatly, on the chair in the corner of the room. It would have been a better story if Pepper _had_ been somewhere organising damage control…

 

_What are you talking about? A better story for who?_

 

And, anyway, if he ever _did_ get to tell this story, he could use whatever ending he liked. It wasn’t even a lie. Pepper probably _was_ out there doing his dry cleaning, in some reality…

 

_Whether there are whole other universes in which you do all the things you might have done is another layer of philosophy entirely… And that actually changes what time travel is, if you think about it_

 

…Steve paused, with his T-shirt half pulled over his head.

 

There it was again.

 

That almost nostalgic feeling of having a conversation to get back to. The _way_ he wondered what Tony was going to say next, how quickly Steve could think of other questions to ask…The disappointment that he wouldn’t get to finish.

 

Why should be feel disappointed? He’d accepted so long ago that things like that just didn’t apply…he’d even forgotten why they didn’t…

 

_Because you no longer belong in any time_

_Because everyone is already dead somewhere, there’s always a timeline where you didn’t save them, they’re all dying, all the time…_

_Because nothing you do has any real consequences – all the outcomes are out there anyway, all the outcomes disappear_

_Because there’s nothing to go back to, no reason to choose the time you came from over one a bit like it_

_Because going back means Tony is dead, and not going back means never being anywhere_

By the time Steve had finished pulling his clothes on, he wasn’t smiling any more.

 

His instinct was to flinch away from this. Like he’d suddenly recognised that he’d been mesmerised by a flame. Everything had seemed so different, when the world was soft and warm and Tony was snuggled against his chest, Steve could so easily have just walked right into this, in a trance… And, yeah, it had been a _nice_ trance. It felt comfortable and easy and safe, when he was caught up in it… But in the harsh light of day, he saw how close he’d wandered to edge.

 

Steve had stopped thinking about those things. He’d managed to wordlessly accept those things, because thinking about them was one of the few agonies he could spare himself. There was no fixing any of it, only torturing himself with it.

 

And it was _better_ to be like this, to live in the moment and never wonder why. To accept the endless emptiness and ignore the nagging worries – and at least get to have some fleeting fun with a memory of Tony Stark. He could spend the rest of his life in a harmless, meaningless fantasy. And, yeah, it was horrible. But it was the least horrible of all the options, now. And it was better when Steve didn’t think about why it was horrible.

 

_But what if he could make it less horrible_?

 

Steve felt an immediate stab of self-loathing at thinking of this Tony as _he_. Of now nearly he’d slipped into thinking of this as _real_. Steve felt dirty, and disloyal, and that old, ill-defined fear that he’d somehow make _his_ Tony less real, if he let himself think…

 

Oh, but he couldn’t think about that. Even thinking about the meaningless of life was better than thinking about what made Tony real, _why_ Steve couldn’t have him back, what it meant that he was…

 

Steve couldn’t think those words anymore. He knew no good came of thinking the words. He didn’t have to think about it to just _know_ that he’d already thought the words over and over, that he’d screamed and cried and wasted so many hours thinking of all the things he wished he’d said, that he’d relived those last few seconds again and again, that it had been the thing he saw when he closed his eyes for so many nights… He didn’t have to think about it to know it was better to see nothing, to think and feel nothing, than any of that.

 

And this Tony wasn’t real, and wasn’t allowed to be real, and no good would come of thinking about it.

 

Wanting to find _this_ Tony again, just to ask if…it was ridiculous, and uncomfortable, and _wrong_. Whatever he’d thought and felt and… _done_ , last night… it _wasn’t_ real.

 

Steve should just go. Somewhere. Else.

 

He was even in the middle of picking another entirely arbitrary date when the door burst open-

 

And there was Nick Fury.

 

 

Nick considered Steve for a moment, and then glanced at the wreck Steve and Tony had made of the bedroom, and then raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not exactly as the comic books described you, Captain.” He commented, eventually. And Steve smiled again, in spite of himself.

 

_I wish I had someone to tell this story._  

 

“Depends which stores you bought the comics from” Steve shrugged, _suggestively_ , deciding right then to run with the joke. It was the first time in a long time that it had been an _effort_ not to think; it was easier when he was doing something. And, yeah, it was a shame that no one else would ever know why this was so fucking funny. But, in the moment, Steve found it funny. That would do.

 

He enjoyed Nick’s distasteful frown very much

 

Then Nat walked into the room, and stopped just at Nick’s shoulder. Steve beamed at her, fully into his role now.

“Hi Nat” He sang, playfully “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“A bit sore” She answered sardonically, subconsciously touching the burn that Vanko had left on her forearm.

“Same” Steve nodded, casually, like a he was making small talk by the watercooler.

“I thought the serum protected you from _consequences_ like that?” Nick asked snidely, purely to demonstrate that he’d done his homework. Steve could _see_ Nick trying to play him, trying to control the tone of this conversation, trying to maintain an impression. It added another layer of fun to Steve’s little game.

“I didn’t mean from fighting Vanko” Steve corrected him, and then grinned. And, yeah, he _loved_ that this was one reaction Nick obviously hadn’t prepared for.

 

For a second Nick just stared at him.

 

“He’s dying, you know” It was Natasha who spoke, in the end. And Steve did a very good job of maintaining a calm countenance while that little detail hit him.

 

_Oh yeah. I knew that._

 

Steve _almost_ thought back to the particular way that Tony had surrendered to him the night before, the unexpected way he’d responded to certain things. He _almost_ thought about what Tony must’ve been feeling, what the deeper meaning would have been, whether Steve had done something _wrong_ last night-

 

But no. No good would come of that. Tony wasn’t real – and neither was Natasha. Which meant Steve didn’t owe her an explanation, and he didn’t have to think about the long-term effect of anything he said. He just had to say something.

 

“Really? Then what you’re doing is especially cruel, isn’t it?” He frowned “I mean, trying to see how well he resists temptation is all a bit like entrapment anyway…creepy… but, if you’re doing it to see how he’ll handle his own upcoming death? Wow.”

“Okay, _Captain_ , you may think you know everything about what’s going on here-”

“Shut up Nick, I don’t work for you” Steve told him, breezily, already standing up to leave.

“No one has seen him since he left with you last night” Nat informed him-

 

And Steve stopped.

 

He found himself in a very odd present. Caring where Tony was, and not being allowed to care where Tony was – and not being able to think about why. Not wanting to think about why Tony couldn’t be real, and therefore not being able to argue himself out of this immediate reaction.

 

His desperation to simply live in this moment was suddenly very complicated. Because, in the moment, all he could think about was whether Tony was okay. Giving in to that impulse, just for a minute… was that what he was trying to do right now, or trying to avoid?

 

… he couldn’t think of anything else.

 

“And you want me to help you find him?” Steve spoke carefully, stalling for time more than anything.

“You’re the one that helped us lose him” Nick reminded him, and Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Why would I bring him back to _you_?”

“Because he needs our help to survive this thing” Nick told Steve, more solemnly.

 

The idea hit Steve first as a comeback to Nick. And then he’d had the idea, and then he’d _liked_ the idea… and he couldn’t think of how else to live in the moment, other than to give into this idea.

 

This was what he wanted to do right now. No thinking about it.

 

“Oh, Nick, you may _think_ you know everything about what’s going on here…” Steve smiled patronisingly, and strolled out of the room.

 

*

 

Steve already knew where Tony would be, if neither Nick nor Nat could find him.

 

He’d told Steve once, a throw away comment in a conversation that had happened ten years ago, and five years in the future, and would likely never happen at all now, although it would always have happened. _I used to hang out on the jet, when I didn’t want to be found. All the facilities, fully loaded bar, and no one ever thinks to look for you on a stationary jet._

 

Steve remembered smiling, and thinking that he wouldn’t have thought of checking there, no. He remembered feeling a little swell of hope, maybe even pride, that Tony had told him that – what might’ve been a hint that Tony wouldn’t be hiding from him in future. At least, that had been the future, once.

 

Steve was having to _try_ not to think about that, now. It had all been so numb and easy and mindless when Steve arrived here, a pattern he’d fallen into so deeply that he’d stopped thinking of it as one… and now it was like the earth was shifting beneath him. Like he’d just remembered the drop beneath the tightrope he was walking.

 

He _knew_ this was dangerous, somehow.

 

But if he was going to talk himself out if it, he’d have to think about what he was doing – what the _consequences_ would be. He’d have to think about what was right and wrong, real or otherwise, what was his duty or his right or just not his place to meddle with. Steve hadn’t realised that those questions had started to _frighten_ him, until now. He just knew that he’d thought and thought and nearly driven himself mad with it, that he’d been closer to peace when he just accepted it, when he just _did_ …

 

And all he wanted to do now was help Tony. Damn Tony, with his beautiful eyes and his human heart and that way he had of pulling the world apart in front of you and making you _think_ -

 

_Or_ …

 

Steve _could_ just think of it as an extended fantasy. A more involved game, now that Steve had relived as many individual moments as he could think of. Why couldn’t he want to save Tony’s life as much as he wanted to make him smile, just for the fun of it? Just to see… If he’d _always_ wanted to scoop Tony up and make everything better, if Steve had always regretted how his ego and his flaws and his misunderstandings about the world stopped him from doing it the first time – why not play _that_ game? Okay, so it wasn’t real. But if it had been real it wouldn’t have been this easy, this obvious – this much fun. Steve could think of it that way. It didn’t have to be, _why are you doing this, if it isn’t real?_ It could still be _If it isn’t real, why not_?

 

He did not have to think about why he wanted to.

He did not have to consider how he felt, or would feel, in the future.

He would not look down while he was walking this tightrope.

 

He just strolled up to the door of the jet, and banged very confidently, three times. He was already thinking of alternative strategies as he called Tony’s name, simply assuming that Tony wouldn’t actually open the door-

 

And then Tony opened the door.

 

Steve faltered for a second when his eyes met Tony’s, dark and heavy and squinting into the early morning sunlight. Tony’s hair was dishevelled, and his skin still creased from sleeping – a faint bruise his throat that Steve knew was one of many _he’d_ left, the night before. Steve felt his breath catch in a not-unpleasant sort of way as Tony looked at him, and suddenly living in the moment didn’t seem such a challenge.

 

“Y’know, there is a fine line between being an admirer and being a stalker” Tony slurred. His voice was thick with sleep rather than drink, although Steve had to guess that Tony _had_ been drinking the night before, after he left him.

“You don’t want to die, right?” Steve cut straight to the point. Tony blinked at him.

“Y’know, there is a fine line between being a stalker and an actual psychopath.” He delivered in _exactly_ the same tone of voice.

 

And Steve just laughed. He laughed thinking of his own ridiculous statement, he laughed thinking of how it would have sounded to Tony, he laughed thinking of just how very _Tony_ that response was. He laughed, in spite of that deep little ache… Oh, Tony had said so many things that Steve thought were clever or funny or just so very _him_ , and Steve had never let himself laugh, at the time. He was always so worried about whether he _should_ , whether he was going to offend someone else or give an unprofessional impression or upset some imaginary balance he’d created between the two of them… He didn’t think about the strange pain this inspired in him. He wasn’t even sure he disliked it.

 

“I _meant_ ” Steve clarified, still smiling “that I know you’re dying of palladium poisoning right now, and that you can’t find another element to use instead – and I know what element you _did_ end up using, and where you can find it.”

 

That got Tony’s attention. There was a little flash of hope that Steve would never have caught if he hadn’t really _known_ this face, a defensive straightening of the back that Tony only did in response to kindness, never threats… And Steve didn’t want to think about that, so he just kept talking.

 

“The first time around you actually _made_ it – you _engineered_ a whole new element, from scratch… and I guess me helping you cheat will mean you never get to do that…although, if it helps, you _did_ do that, so I guess you’re always doing it anyway… and at least if you cheat now, you won’t have to put up with Nick Fury being a smug bastard…so…” He trailed off into a shrug. For a second Tony just carried on looking at him.

 

“Okay, what is your deal, anyway?” He asked, eventually.

“…Can I come in?” Steve exhaled, rather than even thinking of an answer. Tony took another second to think about it before he stepped aside.

 

Steve almost laughed again when he saw the interior of Tony’s jet.

 

“Well, this is retro” Steve thought out loud, his eyes catching on the pole in the centre of the dancefloor.

“Only from your perspective” Tony mumbled, walking past Steve with heavy steps to collapse onto one of the couches.

“Only from one of my perspectives” Steve agreed, equally mindlessly. Tony raised his eyebrows.

 

“Okay, lets just summarise this situation, shall we?”

“I was born in 1918, and then I got frozen in 1945, and then I woke up in 2012, and then in 2023 I started…travelling through time.” Steve sighed.

“Yeah, no, I got the gist of that, thanks” Tony frowned, as though _that bit_ was perfectly normal.  

“So what confuses you?” Steve asked simply, trying to enjoy Tony for what he was in this moment, without actually thinking what that meant.

 

“What are you _doing_ here, Steve? What’s the point of all this?” Tony just outright asked.

 

Of course he did.

 

Steve _really_ thought he’d come here to avoid those questions. It was as much as he’d let himself think – throw yourself into the moment, find a memory of Tony if you want to, don’t stop to wonder what the point is. _Do that instead of thinking about things._ If he’d cautioned himself in any way, it was against thinking of Tony as real. A dark, ominous feeling that Steve was about to get _drawn in_ , that he should run if he felt himself getting any _more_ caught up in this…

 

And now he realised; this was exactly what he came here for.

 

Whatever process was happening inside Steve had already started. He’d _already_ started to feel differently, about this world or this Tony or just in himself…

 

And he _wanted_ to.

 

He knew he probably shouldn’t want this, he _knew_ that he’d talked himself out of this once… but he _felt_ something, now. And he couldn’t tell whether the rapidly diminishing part of him saying _run_ was the sensible bit, the ‘right’ bit, the equivalent of a desperate sponsor reciting the merits of sobriety while all he _wanted_ was a drink… Or whether this sudden connection _meant_ something, whether he really _would_ lose something forever if he didn’t hold on to this….

 

He so wanted something to give him meaning

He was so sure that searching for that meaning could only drive him mad.

He so wanted Tony to be real.

He was so scared he’d make this Tony real.

He was so lost and confused and lonely, and God, if he thought about that…

 

But he didn’t have to think about it to know, this was more than just a game now. This wasn’t just about saving Tony’s life or annoying Nick, or doing anything for the fun of it. Steve was here because he needed something, from _this_ Tony, however much that scared him. That was basically as far as he’d got.

 

He almost said, _I’m here so that you can tell me what I’m doing here. _

 

But that wouldn’t have worked. So.

 

 “So, you know how _you_ feel right now?” Steve began, glancing at the arc reactor glowing through Tony’s shirt. “You know that you’re dying, and in a way that’s like already being dead – and making your peace with it is just accepting that you’re already dead?” He watched Tony’s eyes widen, a little hint of vulnerability around his mouth in spite of his best efforts. Steve knew that, from Tony’s point of view, he’d just found someone who knew _exactly_ what he was thinking right now – and hey, that was true, wasn’t it? The fact that Steve only knew this because Tony had told him himself, once… did that mean he understood it any less than if he’d been insightful enough to work it out? Wasn’t the whole point that he _did_ know, “You think about your life up until now as _the whole story_ , and you make sense of it and you’re even okay with it, because that’s what getting ready for dying is… but that means your story is already over, so there’s not really anything to do, now?”

“How do you know all that?” Tony asked, his voice as affected as Steve had ever heard it. He almost felt guilty, then. He almost said, _because you told me_. But he knew, if he said that, Tony would feel uncomfortable and exposed and aware of the power difference between them. He knew _this_ Tony would lash out and close Steve down. He knew it wouldn’t _work_. So, instead he said.

“Well, its kind of like that for me. I probably can’t explain to you _why_. It’s not like I’m dying, but… I won my fight, I guess, I became whatever I was supposed to be, I never really had a home anyway… and now I’m here” He shrugged, trying to keep this the right tone. “And… you know how, when you’re dying, nothing you do really matters, so that should at least mean you can do what you like, right?”

“That’s what you think?” Tony spoke in a perfectly level tone, his eyes fixed on Steve now.

“That’s what you think, right?” Steve smiled, not looking away “That’s why you’ve given away half your stuff and got drunk way more than you usually do – because that’s what you _wanted_ to do really, at least sometimes, but you never could because of what would happen after. I guess that’s it. I don’t have a happens after, either. So this is what I want to do now.”

 

Tony considered him for a moment.

 

“So, Captain America has just fallen out of the sky, fucked me, and then asked if he can save my life, for no reason other than he sort of feels like he’s already dead.” Tony clarified. Steve huffed out a laugh, and felt himself blushing.

“Exactly that. Also, I love you-”

“Yeah, about that.” Tony intervened, closing his eyes with a wince. And Steve laughed again, because he already knew what was coming. “If I’m going along with this, you’re going to have to stop with that. I mean, last night was…fun, in a totally batshit way, but this whole…” He waved vaguely in Steve’s direction, clearly struggling for the words. Steve just carried on smiling.

 

“Well, I _do_ love you.” He repeated, affectionately “But I don’t have to say it, if that makes you feel better.”

“…You are _aware_ that last night was batshit, aren’t you?” Tony asked, squinting at him. “I just need to check how far outside reality you are before I agree to being stuck on a plane with you.” Steve felt his blush deepen.

“Yeah, it was all a bit much, I know that. I’m sorry. If it helps at all… that’s not…really me.”

“There’s another one of you wandering around?” Tony deadpanned. “Where’s that one from, the year 3043?”

“I meant… I mean, I’m not really like that.” Steve admitted with a little shake of his head. “I’m not like _this_ , really – if anyone, from _any_ of my lives, had seen me today… you’ll just have to take my word for it, it’d be funny. I’m actually… I _was_ a lot more guarded than all that...and now I’m not really anything… But it’s just the same reason you were about to do a whole bunch of reckless stuff, I guess. Same reason you went along with all that last night. You can be whoever you want when you’re already dead… if you want the honest answer, that’s more something I thought would be fun to try out. Someone I was being for a little while…”

“’s’one way of looking at it” Tony murmured, liked he wasn’t even talking to Steve. Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

“Hm?”

“You wouldn’t have forced me though, if I’d told you no.” Tony spoke up, and Steve’s mouth actually filled up with a bitter taste at the thought.

“What – _no._ Jesus Christ, Tony, of course not-”

“But you _could_ , really, if nothing matters or whatever.”

“Tony, I would _never-_ ” Steve began, breathless now – surely Tony didn’t feel _threatened_ being on this jet with him, after-

“No, I know” Tony cut in, breezily. “Whatever the truth about time travel and theoretical physics, I’m absolutely sure there is no reality in which you’ve raped anyone, or hit a woman, or kicked a puppy – because you just don’t want to, do you?”

“… _No_.” Steve frowned, not sure _how_ this could be a trick question.

“So what you’re doing now is just the stuff you _wanted_ to do, but couldn’t because consequences?” He considered Steve for a second. “So, really, isn’t this who you _actually_ are, and the other thing is what you’re pretending to be, to avoid consequences? May- _be,_ the bit after you’re essentially dead is when you find out who you _really_ are…”

 

_Oh, Tony, how do you do this?_

 

A completely _false_ memory of him now, a thing that never happened – and he could _still_ grab Steve right by the heart, make him _want_ to argue back, make him _care_.

 

“Well, then who I _really_ am is the person who just wants to save your life, right now.” Steve said, because he only needed to keep Tony here, for now. He’d work out the rest of it later…

 

But this was what he needed to do _now_.

 

And Steve didn’t know if it made this moment, or this Tony, real. He still didn’t know how he felt about that question. But he _knew_ that there was an experience or a lesson or a … _thing_ , that he had this one chance to grab. He just knew that he could come back to this exact day a thousand times and never quite recreate the chain of events that got Tony _here_ , of all the many millions of places Tony’s mind could go. Even if there _were_ endless opportunities to relive this… they weren’t available to Steve, after today.

 

That meant that, just for a moment, even if only in Steve’s head, something _mattered_.

 

“And I know you don’t really find that so hard to believe, because when _you_ found out you were dying, all you wanted to do was help people. So.” Steve went on “That’s why I’m doing this – do you want me to do it, or not?”

 

But Steve knew that Tony Stark wanted to _live_. Tony Stark was imbued with an indomitable and impossible determination to _survive_ that…Steve just couldn’t think about, anymore… but he knew it well enough to know it would work now.

 

“Yeah, I don’t want to die” Tony sighed, like it was an admission of some kind. And then he glanced up and caught Steve’s eye. “But… I gotta tell you… look, I don’t know what version of me you’ve met, or think you’ve met, or whatever… but if you’re doing this whole thing because you think I’m destined to be some fantastic human being, you should know in advance that I don’t agree with you, and I’m not promising that. And, actually, whatever theory of time travel you’re using, doesn’t mean you _know_ what I’m going to turn into after-”

“Thank God you weren’t born stupid and ugly, eh?” Steve interjected casually, a sadness in his smile now.

“…excuse me?”

“…I find it amazing that you can imagine so much, and you still can’t conceive of one person in all the billions that will exist throughout time that would actually be in love with _you_. Even you, just as you are.” Steve started to tell him – but pulled himself short when he saw Tony withdrawing from him. Well, of course he would. This might all be true, but it wasn’t the way to get Tony to stay, and Steve knew that. “…but fine. It doesn’t really matter, because that’s _not_ why I’m doing this. I’m not expecting anything from you, any more than you’re expecting anything from the Boy Scouts of America, or whoever else you’ve given millions to this week. Honest answer is I probably won’t be here to see _what_ you do, after you live. But I want to see you live. That’s what _I_ want to do. So.”

 

There was a loaded silence that Steve knew he absolutely could not be the one to break.

 

“Okay.” Tony said, eventually “So, where are we going?”

 

And Steve felt himself warm through with a genuine smile as he answered,

 

“Wakanda”

 

*

 

By the time Steve had taken the plane to altitude, Tony had drifted into sleep again. Steve guessed it was as much to do with avoiding an awkward conversation as the effects of a heavy night, but he didn’t mind. He’d been glad he had a few hours alone with this monumental decision, to be honest.

 

He made his peace with most of it amazingly quickly. For all the sudden panic and confusion that he’d felt in the lead up to that decision, once Steve _had_ worked out that he was doing this, he knew how to get it done. Maybe it was just the way his brain worked now, however many months of just _knowing_ that there was no point in thinking about the past or the future… But Steve had managed to pull everything into some sort of order in his head, out of necessity. He’d basically come up with _an_ explanation for what he was doing, _a_ basic plan for the next few days, a _general_ idea of what he wanted to get from this – and, okay, it was all a bit forced and he still sort of knew it was arbitrary and he was sure he _could_ talk himself out of any of it, but it would do. Get Tony to Wakanda, save his life, finish that conversation about time travel, maybe find some meaning from somewhere… he could decide to go with that. He could use that as a label for this sudden, ill-defined mission he found himself in the middle of, and that was almost all he needed right now.

 

It was _just_ how he felt about Tony…

 

He’d looked at Tony, fast asleep, his head resting on his own hands and his lips just parted…and, in the first instant, Steve’s heart just ached for _his_ Tony. Seeing this image of Tony just reminded Steve of all the times he’d woken Tony up in his lab or the office, back when he _was_ real, it just made Steve think of all the things that had actually happened... _That_ was ok. That was mourning and reminiscing and wanting to cling to any reminder – that’s what Steve _had_ been doing all this time, on the implicit understanding that it was no different to smiling at home movie or indulging in a daydream or using the B.A.R.F. machine.

 

But then Steve found himself remembering Tony – _a_ Tony – sleeping like this the night before… Steve found his thoughts trying so hard to drift back there, a dangerous urge to remember _that_ Tony and wonder about that moment, as though it had really happened… he found himself thinking that it was _this_ Tony that he wanted to talk to, this specific point he was trying to stay in for long enough to learn something…

 

If this wasn’t the real Tony, then Steve couldn’t let himself feel this way about him, he couldn’t forget the real Tony or dishonour the real Tony or let himself get hurt like that.

If this Tony was real then it meant that _his_ Tony wasn’t unique, his death didn’t mean anything, the life he and Steve had led together had no claim to authority.

 

It was much harder to stop himself from thinking about all of that. _That_ had continued to nag him for the rest of the flight, a heavy, dirty feeling, like a secret he didn’t want to know…

 

Until it occurred to him - he hadn’t been thinking about any of this last night.

 

In fact, thinking back… it was the strangest memory. So vivid and yet still somehow distant. As though he hadn’t been quite present or paid enough attention or appreciated the real significance at the time. It felt a bit like watching a very detailed video of himself…one he could _feel_ …

 

Oh God it _did_ feel good though…

 

And Steve went to regret the fact that he had been so lost in that moment, that he hadn’t taken the time to really think about all these amazing things he was doing _with Tony Stark…_

 

But maybe that had been the point.

 

Thinking about it…maybe the only reason he’d done any of those amazing things with Tony Stark was because he _wasn’t_ thinking about it. Maybe you just can’t have a completely perfect experience and be aware of it at the time – maybe finding it that natural and not worrying about the meaning and not being scared of it ending were all parts of what had made it so good. Even that memory was only perfect until Steve over-thought it and wondered what it meant…but, _until_ he did that…

 

Maybe Steve didn’t have to answer every question. Maybe he _could_ be content to know what he was doing for the next few days and what he hoped to achieve from it. Take Tony to Wakanda, save his life, see what he had to say about time travel, maybe feel better at the end of it – and whatever Tony was, he was. Maybe Steve could just live this, and worry later…

 

Oh, maybe Steve would just get to show Tony Wakanda…

 

Steve didn’t really decide to stop thinking this time, so much as he just… stopped. He didn’t choose to retreat into this moment so much as he collapsed into it. He had a plan he could run with now, and he was so tired of thinking about it already, and, honestly, he just _so_ wanted to show Tony Wakanda…

 

If he could just stop himself thinking about it – this could be _perfect_.


	4. Chapter 4

If ‘the past’ and ‘the future’ are just relative terms, and ‘the present’ is simply what is happening to _you_ , regardless of whether you travelled through time to get there… then, for Steve, the present was this:

 

He was sitting in the lobby outside of what he still called Shuri’s lab, although of course it wasn’t yet. He was staring _at_ the large bay window, because it was too dark outside for him to see anything other than his own reflection – mainly as a way to ignore the suspicious looks he was getting from everyone that passed through. Steve knew how to bluff his way into almost anywhere these days, but it turned out there was just no short cut to actual trust.

 

In a way, it was easier for Steve to ‘break in’ to somewhere as secure as Wakanda than it was most places. Or, at least, it was more likely he’d be believed once he had. Everyone here knew it was _impossible_ for an outsider to fly through the dome, that no one could have worked out or stolen or overridden the security coding… Steve’s story that he was a friend from the future was actually the most logical explanation that anyone could come up with. Certainly a good enough story to get Steve and Tony in front of T’Chaka – and Steve always knew he had it covered from there. It was total fluke that Steve had photo of Shuri and T’Challa on his phone. Originally, it had been sent to him as a picture of Bucky, one of a handful of updates on his progress in those two years… Now, it was only useful because of who Bucky was standing with. Steve knew that no father would turn someone away with information like that.

 

Everyone had accepted that Steve must be who he said he was, because there was no other explanation. They had agreed to help Tony, because Shuri and T’Challa would one day promise that they always would – how else could Steve have made it here? How else could he have _known_? And they conceded that Steve did already know about Wakanda, before he even arrived, so there was no reason to worry what information he was going back to the world with… everyone _knew_ all this, almost as soon as they got here.

 

That didn’t mean anyone _believed_ it, though.

 

None of these logical arguments did anything to make anyone _feel_ more comfortable around him, Steve could tell. He’d been sitting here for nearly six hours now, and in that time no more than ten minutes had passed before someone felt the need to wander through, or check in, or find some other pretext to stare at Steve when they thought he wasn’t looking. Steve didn’t mind. In this particular present, at this exact moment, Wakanda’s finest medical scientists, engineers and surgeons were all gathered around Tony Starks open chest. That had Steve’s attention, for the time being.

 

For all sorts of reasons…

 

He was briefly pulled out of his head when he heard Tony’s phone buzzing on the side table, again. Steve knew he’d only left it there because he’d been too overwhelmed by Wakanda and… _everything_ they could do here… to think where he was putting anything. Steve glanced at it, and wondered again whether he should turn it off, if Tony would’ve meant to-

 

Oh, hey, how about that – Steve recognised that number.

 

Every other time there had been a name, usually a picture. Rhodey had called at least ten times, and Happy. Pepper had called twice as often, even though Tony _had_ called her to at least say he wasn’t dead and would call her back tomorrow…and then hung up on her while she demanded to know where he was. The name Natalie Rushman had flashed up twice. A few names Steve might’ve heard before, maybe colleagues or journalists or just women Tony was dating. And now a strange ten-digit number – one of dozens that Steve would always recognise. He had a knack for remembering numbers, developed in an era before electronic phonebooks and honed by the serum. He’d not even tried to memorise the various cover codes that came up when you received a call direct from SHIELD – he just knew one when he saw it.

 

He couldn’t resist.

 

“Hello, Tony Starks phone” He sang, doing his best impression of a 1960s secretary. He recognised Nick from the impatient little breath alone.

“Cute, that’s really cute – I’m still talking to Steve Rogers, I take it?”

“You used to call me Captain, you know” Steve sighed, playfully. He wasn’t really sure _where_ this antagonism toward Nick had come from, other than he’d had the idea this morning and just run with it.

 

Maybe Tony was right. After all, it wasn’t like these little put downs were coming from _nowhere_ – he wasn’t having to pause to think them up. Maybe he _had_ always wanted to talk back, make jokes, _surprise people_ … Maybe, thinking about it, there had been a thousand times when he’d wanted to just do something else, say something people weren’t expecting, not be Captain America for a minute, just to see how it felt… maybe it _was_ only the possible consequences that had stopped him. Because he didn’t actually feel bad for doing it now. Not without the anxiety about what would happen after. There _were_ things he would still feel bad about – Tony was right about that too. There were some things Steve would just never do, consequences or none, things that were just _wrong_ …

 

But being able to react to Nick exactly as he _was_ reacting in the moment, being able to just act as unimpressed or amused as he felt without stopping to think if he should feel that way or if it was wrong to let anyone know… Maybe that had never been wrong.

 

Although Steve was sure he remembered it _feeling_ wrong, at one time…

 

“ _I_ never called you anything, _Rogers_ – _I_ don’t know you” Nick carried on talking. “I’m not calling for _you_.”

“Well, I’m who you got, so, can I help you at all?” Steve sighed.

“You can put Tony Stark on the phone” Nick warned him, and Steve smiled.

“I can’t actually – he’s having surgery at the moment” There was a heavy pause.

“…Surgery?”

“Surgery”

“…You think whoever you’ve got doing a back- alley operation on Tony Stark is qualified to work on the arc reactor? More qualified than he is? More qualified than the whole of SHIELD?” The edge on Nick’s voice grew sharper as he spoke.

 

Steve felt a low little kick at the bottom of his stomach. The same one he’d been feeling all evening, and still didn’t really understand. The same deep discomfort at thinking about what should have been a very happy development…

 

“Actually, they’ll be _removing_ the arc reactor” Steve answered, his voice suddenly sombre “ _Whoever I’ve got_ knows how to undo all the damage from the original injury…remove all the shrapnel, repair his heart…rebuild his lungs…” Steve trailed off, drifting into himself a little bit as he wondered why any of that made him uncomfortable.

 

His mind went back a few hours, to he and Tony and the Wakandan medical team all sitting in this same room, discussing Tony’s options. Steve remembered smiling at how swiftly Tony compartmentalised his wonder at this magical place, how smoothly he set it aside when it came time to discuss something serious. How he didn’t _get over_ it, how he was obviously still as amazed and excited as he had been the moment they came through the dome – the way none of that stopped him from doing something else, when he had to. Steve had watched with wonder as Tony watched with interest as the medical team explained. Steve saw how quickly Tony moved past his amazement that this science existed and onto accepting that it did, and wondering how to use it… How easily he followed the conversation of the doctors, how he seemed to understand what they were talking about even though he’d never heard of this technology before. He’d wasted no time trying to make this all fit what he’d known before, or arguing that it wasn’t possible, or demanding to see further proof. And in those few minutes it was so easy for Steve just to love him. The was nothing complicating it, no other meaning that occurred to him, no existential doubt – just Tony’s very pretty face as he discovered Wakanda, and started to believe it would save his life. Steve got to be simply and perfectly happy about that for all of five minutes.

 

And then they’d got as far as the specifics – all the things they could actually do. How they could remove all modifications, repair all the injuries, rebuild the tissue…by the end of the night, Tony wouldn’t even have a scar.

 

And Steve hadn’t liked that idea.

 

No use denying it now; he’d had a clear urge to yell, _woah, stop, that’s not what we’re here for._ That had never been the plan. Tony was always supposed to replace those palladium parts with vibranium, _that_ was the little shortcut they were here to take. But removing the arc reactor completely…? The arc reactor was part of Tony… _his_ Tony. It had been even after Tony had removed most of it himself…there had always been the scar, the skeleton components, there had always been the legend of it. What the doctors were doing now wasn’t just removing the arc reactor – they were _erasing_ it. Making it as though it never happened. And that was good, probably – better for Tony, certainly… but still not right. It didn’t _feel_ right, it felt…

 

Well, Steve had to ignore how it felt. If that wasn’t already obvious, it would have been to anyone watching Tony’s face when the doctors said all that. The way that look of scientific marvel melted into a wonder of a more spiritual kind… Steve had never seen Tony’s face as open and honest as it was in that moment. That alone was enough to make him feel tearful.

 

And then Tony had paused for a second, and when he looked up at the senior surgeon Steve could so clearly see him as a little boy.

 

And then he’d asked, just like a little boy, _so, I’ll actually be able to breathe_?

 

And Steve’s heart had broken for him – _even as_ he continued to feel uncomfortable about this operation. The end result of which was Steve just feeling terrible for feeling anything other than thrilled for Tony, right now. None of which he was going to tell Nick, obviously – but only because that conversation wouldn’t have been any fun.

 

“So, it seems Mr Stark will not be requiring your assistance after all” Steve reverted to his earlier cheeriness, a little bit forced this time. “Will there be anything else?”

“Damn right there will be anything else” Nick snapped. “And you can start with where the hell you’ve taken him-”

“Why, can’t you work it out?” Steve teased. He swore he could _hear_ Nick set his jaw.

“…It is _not_ going to be better for either of you if we have to come looking for you.”

“Better than what?” And that teasing tone melted away from Steve’s voice as he suddenly recognised a very specific freedom he now had.

 

Steve had never done wrong by Tony, here.

 

Back in the ‘real world’ there had been so many moments like this. Times when Steve would want to jump in and defend Tony, when he’d feel indignant or angry on Tony’s behalf, when he’d want so much to make a point in Tony’s defence – but he couldn’t. Because, back in the ‘real world’, it had taken Steve too damn long to see all the special things that Tony was, to work out that all of his preconceptions about Tony had been _way_ off. The first time around, Steve had been as judgemental and dismissive as anyone when he first met Tony. And it had taken him far too long to see that, and even longer to stop doing it, and by the time Steve wanted to tell other people off for doing it he’d lost any right. If Steve had ever taken _his_ Nick to task for the way he’d treated Tony, or the things he’d said about him in the beginning, or the fact that he’d outright rejected him at the start, Nick could always have come back with _and what about you_? And, unfortunately, the list of arguments _that_ Nick could have thrown at him only grew over time. Because however much he had loved Tony, _his_ Tony, it hadn’t been enough to stop Steve fucking it up repeatedly. Badly enough that he could never have said a word to anyone about their treatment of Tony Stark, in his reality.

 

But in _this_ reality…

 

Okay, even in this reality, Steve had still made all those mistakes. He knew he had. Nothing had changed about this situation other than what Nick knew – but, in the moment, that changed everything.  

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong _Fury_ , but it seems to me you don’t have any legal reason or authority to detain either of us. You don’t have any sort of leverage any more, Tony doesn’t want or need anything from you, and you have no business what-so-ever poking around in his life anyway, yes?” Steve summarised sharply, and didn’t give Nick the time to respond. “You never had any right to send Nat in to screw with him, without his consent, to check his acceptability for a job he never even wanted. You never had any idea how to help him, you were just going to bully him into helping himself. And _you_ need Tony Stark, not the other way around, so may- _be_ you should try being nicer to him – because you aren’t going to find anyone better than him, you aren’t going to be able to hold him to ransom, you aren’t going to be able to buy him or bully him or outsmart him and you aren’t going to be able to do it without him. And you won’t ever find him yourself. So, I guess your only option is to say sorry and ask nicely, now isn’t it?”

 

Nick left three full seconds of silence – and Steve enjoyed them enormously.

 

“Fine. _I’m sorry_. Can I speak to Tony Stark – _please_?” Nick bit out, and Steve felt a surge of satisfaction. He was actually grinning when he answered.

“Oh, no, he really _is_ in surgery right now – but I will pass on your message as soon as he wakes up, ‘k?”

 

And he decided, impulsively, to hang up at that point, purely because he wanted to quit while he was ahead.

 

His ears were literally ringing as he set the phone down. There was a coppery taste on his tongue, and a pleasant thrumming just under his skin. That had been _fun_. The immediate physical effect of that intervention was enough to drown out any worries about what it meant, enough to even push the idea of Tony’s operation aside, for now.

 

Steve resolved to hold on to it for as long as he could.

 

About an hour before daybreak, T’Chaka came to personally deliver the news that the operation had been a success. Steve had been glad of the surge of emotion in his chest, _relieved_ to find that he really was happy for Tony when it came to it, at least in the moment. His gushing thanks to the medical staff had been entirely sincere. By the time he had finished with that and made his way into the lab, Tony was already sitting, fully dressed, on the bed.

 

Steve saw him before he saw Steve. He had one hand placed gingerly to his chest, like he was trying it out, his lips parted slightly and his forehead creased in thought… Looking at him, Steve felt his chest burn with feeling.

 

And he remembered, _…so, I’ll actually be able to breathe?_

 

He remembered the fact that Tony had lost so much of his lung capacity to that injury, that western medicine had never been able to undo _that_ , that Tony had never been able to take a full breath from that day in Afghanistan… watching him now, there wasn’t a thought in Steve’s head about what Tony should have been, or how Steve should feel about it.

 

Looking at him now, all Steve could think was, _that’s it baby, breathe._

 

Tony glanced up, and saw him – and dropped his eyes. Almost as though he was shy… But Tony Stark was never _shy_ , surely…?

 

 _Vulnerable_ , Steve realised.

 

This was Tony exactly as he was in this moment. Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tony _just_ feeling like that, without any filter. Tony had taken even that unhinged rage in Siberia and shaped it into something, turned it into action, only let Steve see a certain side of it… this was something else. This was something truly beautiful.

 

“Hey.” Steve smiled, his throat suddenly tight. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good” Tony answered quickly, forcing himself to look at Steve again, his voice clipped and contained. “Yeah, I don’t… Doesn’t even feel like…” And then he swallowed, and tried to gather himself “I don’t feel like I just had surgery, which is amazing.”

“And you can breathe.” Steve said softly. Tony dropped his eyes again. Steve could see him blushing. He knew that he should step in and help Tony now, but for a few minutes Steve was no more able to speak than he was.

 

So then, in one reality at least, there were a few minutes when Steve and Tony just quietly shared an honest emotion. It was almost painful, it was so intense – and it was quite possibly the happiest Steve had ever been in his life.

 

_So, somehow, moments can still matter…_

 

And that thought brought the moment to an end…but it did at least give him something to say at the end of it.

 

“And you owe me a conversation about time travel, by the way.” Steve reminded him, and Tony smiled and let go of a breath.

“Do I?” He asked, dreamily.

“You do.” Steve confirmed, his voice warm. “I was in the middle of asking you some very important things, and you told me to ask you tomorrow, and then you fell asleep.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember that” Tony laughed. “…sorry, been a really… _full_ few days…” His eyes drifted away from Steve’s again, more thoughtful than coy this time, as his hand pressed absent-mindedly against his chest again.

“That isn’t why…” Steve spoke as he thought of it, trying to find the words as he went “…I brought you here because I wanted to, I meant that. This doesn’t have anything to do with you promising me a conversation about time travel…” He hesitated briefly when he saw the tender look that came into Tony’s eyes then – but he felt he had to finish. He was just too aware of the power he had now, the ways in which he was fundamentally different to Tony these days. To all people. This was one of those things that wasn’t about consequences. This was because it would’ve felt wrong, just _been_ wrong, not to make sure that Tony knew “You don’t owe me anything, for that – for anything I ever decide _I_ want to do for you….” And Tony actually laughed, _affectionately_.

 

“…It’s only really a question of whether you’re a man of your word or not.” Steve shrugged, more playfully, deliberately trying to lighten the tone now “That’s on you.”

“I am absolutely _not_ a man of my word, that is well established.” Tony grinned. “But, for you I’ll make an exception…”

“Well, seeing as you’ve just had surgery, I’ll let you off until tomorrow.” Steve told him, even though Tony looked more awake and alive and _comfortable_ than Steve had ever seen him.

 

For another moment, Tony just looked at Steve and didn’t say anything.

 

“…I said something about how it’s only living your life again if you don’t remember, didn’t I? I, uh, said that bit out loud, yeah?” Tony’s voice had that fluid, _almost_ giggling quality that it got when he’d had a few drinks. Steve had always loved that…

“Something like that, yeah – that’s when you fell asleep.” Steve smiled “You said it _didn’t work philosophically_ , or something.”

“Well, not from your point of view, no” Tony beamed, jumping to his feet. “From _your_ point of view, going back and telling yourself everything you wish you’d known isn’t any fun, because _you_ don’t get to live it, do you? So, I suppose, in _that_ theory of time travel, this can’t be _your_ second chance or your happily ever after, it can only be someone else’s…”

“Even if that someone else is me?” Steve asked – although, really, he was still more interested in watching Tony breathe than he was in what he was saying. At least until Tony said,

 

“Or me.”

 

And Steve _felt_ that.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked – even though he knew _exactly_ what Tony meant. Or, if it wasn’t what Tony meant, it didn’t matter. The idea it inspired was complete, and coherent, and Steve just knew he could commit to it. He knew he could care about it and enjoy it and live as though it meant something, whether it did or not. He didn’t stop to ask himself how long it would last, or how it could end, or whether it was inevitable or happening a thousand times or even if it was _real_. His racing heart and his breathless elation had no concept of the deeper meaning of it all, didn’t care. He just thought what a wonderful thing it would be to really be _Tony’s_ second chance…

 

“ _Wellll…_ I’m still not sure whoever you’re so impressed with is really _me_ …” Tony smiled “But if _some_ version of me really did work that hard to die for the universe, or whatever it was… if he was _anything_ like me, at all, he probably died wishing he could live it all again – and I know he would have wanted to be able to breathe while he did it, so…” Tony had been walking forward slowly as he spoke. He stopped about an arm’s length away from Steve, and looked him right in the eye before he said, “Thank you.”

 

It was all Steve could do to keep himself from throwing his arms around Tony then. He could’ve fallen to his knees and wept, he was so overwhelmed. And not only because of what he’d done for Tony, or the fact that Tony had actually thanked him – although that was all part of it, without a doubt. But more than that was the wonderful, all but forgotten feeling of excitement that came with having something he really wanted to do. It had been so long since he’d felt that. He really thought it was _impossible_ to feel like that now that he knew what he did… Why didn’t this feel pointless, when he still knew there were a thousand realities where Tony couldn’t breathe? Why didn’t this make Steve feel disloyal to _his_ Tony, or frightened he’d forget him, or anxious he’d erase everything _his_ Tony had done…?

 

_Because Tony just made sense of it for you_

 

He’d just reached into the meaningless, shapeless chaos of Steve’s life, built something out of the scraps and handed it back to him. All this time believing there was just no way to think about all of this, only for Tony to casually offer him an option – and heaven help him, he’d only ever needed an option.

 

Maybe he _could_ talk himself out of it, maybe if he thought about it it’d all fall to pieces, maybe he’d realise in a while that it wasn’t real – but right _now_ it was here. He didn’t have to talk himself _into_ it. Tony had done that for him.

 

Steve could make Tony _so_ happy.

Time travel made that possible – _that_ was the point of it, after all.

So that Steve would know all the things that would help him make Tony’s life better.

So that Steve could get all the stupid, selfish mistakes out of his system without Tony ever being hurt by them.

So that Steve _could_ completely step out of the real world and all its expectations and prejudices and _just_ make Tony happy.

So that Steve could go to a world where he’d never done wrong by Tony, so that he could say those things on Tony’s behalf

 

He had _nothing_ to do but that anymore, there was no greater priority.

 

This _was_ his Tony. This was what came after his Tony, and it couldn’t erase anything Tony had already done because it was _for_ what Tony had already done. He _had_ always had the arc reactor, he _wasn’t_ supposed to have it now.  If this was _Tony’s_ happily ever after, then it was just the next part of the same story-

 

It made sense.

 

Steve could go with that. He knew he could. He didn’t _want_ to think about it any more than that.

 

“What do you want to do now? _Anything_ you want.” Steve promised, his fingers twitching with the desire to reach out to Tony…but he felt like he’d promised not to do that again, hadn’t he?

 

…but then Tony’s lips curled into a suggestive smile, his eyes growing warmer and darker as he closed the gap between them…

 

“I _want_ you.”

 

And _this_ time Steve was completely aware of the moment. This didn’t feel like a dream anymore. This felt exactly like Tony Stark, looking at him like _that_ , and saying that he wanted him. And God that was…

 

Hot.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, even as his hands were curving around Tony’s waist.

“Fuck it, today’s already been batshit – why not?” Tony grinned, and tilted his head up, and then Steve was just kissing him-

 

He was kissing _Tony Stark._

 

Whether it was just because he was allowed to think it now, or because he wasn’t as lost inside his own head, or simply that it had occurred to him this time – _this time_ Steve got to feel that. He remembered all the times he’d wanted to as he actually was, he was thinking how wonderful it was as it actually happened… God, Tony’s lips were perfect, his arms were-

 

Tony broke away from him with a sharp intake of breath, his hands still pressed to Steve’s back.

“Where did they say our room was?” He murmured, still looking up at Steve.

 

And answering that question in words was just _way_ beyond Steve’s processing capacity right now, so instead he just took Tony by the hand and led him there.

 

*

 

Steve had always had this feeling that he and Tony had just kept _missing_ each other.

 

He’d told himself it was probably just wishful thinking, even arrogance on his part… but he could never shake the feeling that there really _had_ been something special between he and Tony, that they were meant to meet each other, that they’d _always_ had everything they needed to make each other happy – if the world hadn’t worked against them quite so cruelly, every single time.

 

And that wasn’t him denying his own culpability. It really wasn’t that Steve put it all down to fate; he knew that, ultimately, they’d never been happy together because _he’d_ screwed it all up… But he knew it could also be true that, if just _one_ of those entirely unlikely, utterly devastating, completely-by-chance things hadn’t happened exactly when they did, they might have made it anyway. If Zemo’s family had happened to be one of the thousands they had saved. If SHIELD hadn’t sent Bucky after Nick exactly when they did. If Rumlow hadn’t detonated that bomb at exactly that time, if The Accords hadn’t happened right then, if Peggy hadn’t died that very day…

 

But it was even more than that.

 

Tony and Steve had just never been in the right _place_ to help each other, had never been open to listening at the same times. They had always wanted to be there for each other, they'd simply never managed it at the time it was needed. Any other time, probably, but never when it might have helped. The days that Tony felt confident or magnanimous enough to reach out were always the days Steve was struggling and liable to snap. The days that Steve was actually brave enough to talk to him were always the days that Tony was lost in trauma of his own.

 

When Steve first met Tony he was in exactly the wrong place to appreciate all the daring and dazzling things he’d later love him for, and completely unable to be any of the things Tony might’ve liked about him. Tony was just beginning to engage with the system when Steve was losing all faith in it, Tony had only just started to trust Steve when Steve learned that awful secret. They made all their mistakes and revelations out of sync with each other, compounding misunderstandings with misunderstandings, failing to communicate because they never had before.

 

When Steve met Tony he was already with Pepper, and when Tony and Pepper _had_ taken a break…well, if that had happened at any other time, maybe…

 

If Steve had just had a _little_ bit more time to adjust to the world before he met Tony, if they had ever managed to be happy or sad together at the same time, if they’d had the chance to have those moments that were always potentially in there…

 

If they’d already been together when any of those awful things happened, if they’d formed the friendship they might’ve had _before_ those catastrophes occurred, if they’d had the chance to even deal with _one damn thing at a time…_

 

If, through any mechanism or change of fate, Steve had just _been_ there, before Thanos…

 

Steve had always wondered if, in another reality, it could’ve been like _this._

That morning in Wakanda when, for the first time ever, he and Tony were in exactly the same place. When, just for once, the things they wanted and needed from each other lined up…

 

That morning they both shared the _same_ excitement. They both had the same perspective at that moment, the same feeling that the small stuff really wasn’t important, that it was glorious just to be alive. They both had the same sense of renewed purpose, the same elation of a second chance, the same freedom of knowing that anything they did from here was a bonus. Neither of them was frightened of what this meant or where this was going – because they were both still delirious to think that anything was going anywhere, suddenly. They weren’t interwoven into each other’s lives yet, there wasn’t a decade’s worth of complicated history to factor in. _As it happened_ , the optional trip hazards and unfortunate events just weren’t there, this time.

 

When Steve closed the bedroom door behind them, and felt the urgency with which Tony pressed him up against it – he _knew_ what Tony needed now. Whether it was healthy or sensible… at least Steve understood, for once. He wasn’t too busy pretending to be the person Tony expected, or too consumed with his own place in the world, or starting with the assumption that the future is crazy and everything must be different here… He just saw that sudden, almost desperate need in Tony to do something with this overwhelming feeling, and he _got_ it. The slightly scary freedom that comes with knowing you have a future to care about after all, the feeling that you’re fundamentally changed now and you’re actually not sure _how_ you feel about it, except that your stomach seems to be full of butterflies and you can feel yourself smiling –

 

Steve _knew_ that feeling.

 

He remembered stepping out of that container, over a foot taller and covered in new muscle… and the first thing _Steve_ had thought was … _I can breathe._

 

Whatever circumstances and neurosis and plain bad luck had stopped Steve from recognising that shared experience the first time around, they didn’t apply any more. For the first time ever there was nothing stopping Steve just _getting_ how Tony was feeling, _understanding_ what he wanted – nothing stopping him from giving it to him.

 

And, although Steve didn’t really recognise it, there seemed to be nothing stopping him from _taking_ everything he needed, either.

 

 _His_ sudden desire to throw caution to the wind and live in this wonderful feeling, his need to just stop thinking for a minute, to take a break from it all… his desperate, _physical_ loneliness, and how simply he just wanted to hold someone and talk to someone and be _with_ someone… If he’d ever felt like this in that first reality, if by some total fluke he’d actually _done_ this, it would’ve come on the worst possible day. Steve just knew it. He’d have thrown his arms around Tony while he was in the middle of an anxiety attack and got yelled at. He’d have shared a deep conversation with Tony about what it was like not being able to breathe, only to find out that it was all Bucky’s fault and never want to think about that conversation again. He’d have decided to stop being Captain America for a minute, just for the fun of it – and then Tony would’ve reacted with surprise, and then Steve would’ve been self-conscious and dropped it. That’s how it always went. Like Tony had only ever had happy, warm and generous days like this when Steve was at his most uncomfortable.

 

But not today.

 

Today, Tony was laughing as Steve kissed him, and Steve didn’t waste a second feeling confused or defensive about it – he knew that Tony just wanted this to be fun, that Tony just _wanted_ to be happy, right now. Steve wanted him to be happy. He wanted Tony to feel safe, and calm, and take for granted that Steve loved him, whatever that meant in the long term. That was what Tony needed right now. To know he just _could_ now, to feel like he deserved this, to not to have to appreciate the hell out of every second of this as though it were a life altering event. Tony’d had enough of life altering events for the time being – Steve _understood_ that. When he stopped looking, he could so clearly see something he’d felt himself, so many times. Tony just wanted to laugh, and let Steve kiss him, and just _be._

 

And that was all Steve wanted, too.


	5. Chapter 5

In fairness, Tony had tried to keep his promise.

 

A few hours later, while he was lying on Steve’s chest and letting Steve trace lazy patterns on his back, Tony had tilted his head up and murmured, _so, you want a conversation about time travel?_

 

And Steve didn’t.

 

As it turned out, all Steve had wanted was a structure. At least, that’s what he’d been chasing since he arrived in Monaco. _That_ was the little flicker of light he’d seen in that specific memory of Tony, the thing he’d been drawn to, so desperate to catch…

 

And he’d caught it.

 

Steve _had_ a meaning now, and it made exactly as much sense as it wanted to. Truthfully, he didn’t want to discuss it and debate it and overthink it out of existence. Actually, he felt like he needed a little while on his own with it, to unpack it and organise it and see what it looked like as a plan… He hadn’t felt like that in forever. Part of him was even looking forward to the difficult bits. That little stirring of anxiety, the knowing that there would be complicated parts to this and things he’d have to compromise… it just felt so human. So real. It wasn’t _quite_ the same as having it back. Steve knew he’d never be the same as anyone ever again – but this was as close as he could hope to come. Feeling it… not having to feel the other things for a little while… that would do. Coming as it did, when it did, it all felt like a relief.

 

So Steve had just smiled and made a joke about how that always sounded more interesting when Tony wasn’t naked, and Tony laughed, and that was that.

 

And then there was that low, quiet buzzing sound again…

 

“Your phone has been ringing for hours, hasn’t it?” Steve realised aloud.

“Oh, is that my phone?” Tony murmured, not sounded especially bothered about it.

“Yeah, sorry – you missed about a thousand calls when you were under too.” Steve winced. “I meant to give that back to you before…”

“S’okay.” Tony laughed “I’m not going to answer it now.”

“I, uh, answered a call from Nick Fury, by the way…” Steve confessed, and Tony looked up at him again, his eyes amused.

“Why?”

“…Stupid impulse, really.” Steve shrugged.

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were having the arc reactor removed… and that he should stop fucking with you and just ask if he wants you to work for them” Steve summarised. He felt Tony’s body tense in interest.

“Oh yeah – was that the whole story about Nat being a SHEILD spy, or…?”

 

And suddenly, Steve remembered just how much more of a story there was.

 

He remembered _Nat_.

 

The last time he’d seen her, nothing and no one had been real. But now that Tony had given him a structure, now that he’d found a meaning and a way to think about the people in this reality… it didn’t stop at Tony. Once he had a plan that he could slot other things into it… this could be _Nat’s_ happy ending too…

 

It would _have_ to be, thinking about it…

 

But that was okay. He had a way to think about this now – he could make this work.

 

“About Nat? No.” Steve grinned. “There is a whole lot more to Nat – hey, when’s your birthday party?”

“What?” Tony blinked – and then groaned. “Oh, God… I’m going to say tomorrow night? Is Wakanda behind or ahead of New York?”

“Seven hours behind.”

“Oh Thank God.”

“So, tomorrow night…?”

“Yeah – what, are you angling for an invite?”

“Yeah.” Steve beamed. “And I want to invite Nat too – please?”

 

Tony considered Steve for a moment, somewhere between intrigued and amused.

 

“Well, okay, if _I_ can’t get out of going, fine.” He conceded, settling back into the nook under Steve’s arm. “Are you going to explain the Nat thing before she gets there?”

 

Steve squeezed Tony’s shoulder affectionately as he thought, again, of all the things he had to explain to Tony. He knew that some of it would be painful, and uncomfortable, and no matter how well he planned it, he couldn’t be sure how Tony would react… but at least he knew what he was planning _for_ , this time. Now, all Steve had to think about was what would do the most good. What, ultimately, would lead to the most stable team and the most solid foundations, the best chance for Tony and everyone else to have a good life afterwards. He knew that meant telling Tony about his parents, and Bucky. He knew it would mean telling Nat about SHIELD, and Hydra. He knew he had to have both of those conversations properly, sensitively, and at the right time – and this very second was not the right time. But.

 

“I promise I will explain _everything_ to you before your party” Steve said sweetly, running his hand through Tony’s hair.

 

*

 

Steve and Tony eventually left Wakanda late that afternoon, after they’d been ‘leaving’ for hours. But, of course, Tony had wanted to speak to every single person involved in his operation first… and then he’d been distracted by the technology of Wakanda, and looked so lovely while he was smiling at it that Steve couldn’t bear to interrupt him… and _then_ Tony had bumped into Shuri, and spent at least an hour throwing brain teasers at her like she was just _the_ most fascinating thing he’d ever come across… by the time they got on the jet, Steve was about as in love with him as he’d ever been.

 

Which made it even more of a shame that he had to have this conversation... but he’d thought about it all very carefully – when he’d get time to say it all properly, when would give Tony the most time to process it, how soon afterwards Tony would be back with his friends – and come to the conclusion that it was now. And, anyway, he wasn’t likely to love Tony any less any time soon. So.

 

He waited patiently as Tony worked through his list of excited and apologetic phone calls, pacing up and down the jet and gesturing as though the other person could see him. Telling Pepper, _no, all of it, gone. Like it was never there._ Telling Rhodey, _it literally means my life expectancy has gone up – or, it’s like it never went down – you know what I mean._

 

Steve had never wondered about Tony’s life expectancy before. Whether _his_ Tony…whether _Tony_ could ever have lived to old age anyway, with that huge chunk of his lungs missing… But that observation didn’t have any relevance to Steve’s new plan, so he dismissed it.

 

He just watched, and waited. And then it was time.

 

“…I am _still_ in so much trouble when I get back.” Tony sighed, as he ended the final call and fell into the seat opposite Steve. Then he obviously recognised something in Steve’s sad smile, and sat up a little straighter.

“I have some things I have to explain to you” Steve began simply. And Tony just raised his eyebrows at him, _go on_. “So, I know your dad told you about me, and the Howling Commandos, and I guess he probably told you about Bucky Barnes?”

“He was your friend” Tony nodded, his voice more contained now that he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with.

“Yeah, my best friend, for as long as I can remember…” Steve sighed “And I _thought_ he died in 1944… but, as it turned out, he survived that fall.” He saw Tony’s eyes widen in surprise. Steve took it that Tony already knew how Bucky ‘died’. “Hydra had already experimented on Bucky before, which is probably how… and it’s probably why Hydra went looking for him.”

 

Steve glanced up then and saw a flash of concern, maybe even sympathy… and felt a little twinge of guilt. Of course, now he knew those feelings were irrational and unhelpful and certainly no reason not to do this – but he felt it, just the same. He _knew_ he was doing it this way around so that Tony would think of Bucky as a victim first, so that the narrative was already set by the time he learned about his parents. It seemed manipulative, doing it so deliberately… but what was the alternative? Take an approach that got Tony angry first? Tell it so that Tony was blinded to the reality of what happened, just as he had been the first time? No. This time, Steve’s only concern was doing this in as healthy and as helpful a way as possible. And, best he could come up with, that meant doing it in this order.

 

“The short version of the story is that they captured him, and experimented on him, and found a way to control him. It’s a form of electrical-neurological control, but it was all secret Nazi experimentation, so there weren’t exactly a lot of notes… but it meant that they could basically program him to do whatever they wanted. So they used him as an assassin. And, when they weren’t using him as an assassin, they put him in Cryo-freeze. They’ve been using him like that for seventy years-”

“He’s still _there_?” Tony cut in suddenly, his voice incredulous and maybe even slightly upset… the guilt stabbed inside Steve again, and again he ignored it.

“Yeah, Hydra still have him-”

“Hydra are _still_ operating? They’re using your friend to kill people, _right now_?”

“Tony, that’s not – there’s more to this.” Steve told him softly, and Tony frowned, _how can there be more?_

 

“So, it turned out that your father had some samples of my blood, from the forties. I assume that’s where it came from… but he managed to make another batch of the serum, or at least something like it. And HYDRA wanted it. So, that night in 1991, when your father was driving to the pentagon with those samples in his car, they sent an assassin – they sent _Bucky_ – to kill him, and your mother, and make it look like a car crash. So that they could take the serum…back to…”

 

But Steve’s voice vanished as the colour ran out of Tony’s face.

 

He saw Tony register the pause, and the flutter of panic behind his eyes as he tried to think of any response whatsoever.

 

“I’m so, so sorry Tony, I-” Steve tired to help him out, but Tony held up his palm, _stop_.

“Hold up. Just one… so, my parents were _assassinated_?” He clarified, slowly, in a very level tone.

“Yes.”

“By Hydra?”

“Yes.”

“And they used your friend to do it?”

“…Yes.”

 

Tony nodded stiffly, and then he drifted inside his head for a moment… Steve just waited, and tried not to be distracted by thoughts of his own.

 

“Do you know where he is?” Tony asked, after a while.

“Not right now, no.” Steve shook his head, sadly. “I only know where he’ll be in 2016.”

“That’s okay, we can find him.” Tony muttered, almost like he was talking to himself, his eyes still lost somewhere in the middle distance. And Steve kept his voice as soft as he could when he asked,

“Find him and do what?”

 

Tony looked up at him then, a little crease in his forehead.

 

“Find him. Help him. Brutally murder whoever is handling him…” Tony answered, as though it should have been obvious, clearly finding it hard to answer Steve over everything going on in his head.

“Tony, are you… do you want me to give you a minute? Or-”

“Yeah, maybe actually.” Tony agreed quickly, already standing up, “Sorry, can you… I’ll be back in a minute…”

“Okay, I’ll be right here…” Steve found himself calling after Tony, as he disappeared into the back of the jet.

 

There was an almost physical desire to follow him, but Steve fought it. He recognised now that the urge to throw his arms around Tony was rooted in his own discomfort. Stepping outside of everything, thinking _only_ of what Tony needed, it was clear that it was a few minutes on his own, at least.

 

So, Steve took a few deep, cleansing breaths. And he thought… _he would always have helped Bucky, if I’d just told him properly._

 

Not that Steve hadn’t already worked that out. It was one of his most immediate regrets after Siberia, something that had tormented him since long before he went travelling through time. And, when he _did_ discover time travel, a version of this conversation was one of the first things Steve had gone back to do. Of course, it had been very different the first time he did it. He’d gone back to a version of Tony that already knew him, he’d gone thinking of it as a simple act of closure – he’d still been human enough to think things _could_ be that simple, then… It had been a different thing entirely. But the one thing that remained the same was that Tony had immediately offered to help Bucky. Without the shock, and the betrayal, and the days of pain and pressure, there was no reason for him to be angry at either Bucky or Steve. That should’ve been obvious – that _was_ always obvious, but still Steve hadn’t seen it that way the first time. And that was a specific sort of regret. A feeling of, _if I could go back…_ that somehow lingered, even as he was literally in the middle of going back. A sadness that wouldn’t be eased by anything he went on to do.

_You can call it going back to the past, but really it’s just changing the circumstances of your present. Just giving yourself different options for what you do in your future…_

 

And Steve actually smiled, even though it was a sad thought, really. He smiled, because at least he understood his sadness now. He had a structure to slot it into. So, time travel – or, _this theory of time travel,_ as Tony would say – could only alleviate certain regrets... It _could_ only let Steve act on the lessons he’d learned, do better in the future. If this was him making amends, it was only in the same way anyone could, time travel or no – it _was_ just the chance to make good with what he did next.

 

But that was okay.

 

If regrets like that were a consequence of having some understanding of himself, some grasp of the chronology of his life, he’d take it. If it gave him something in common with real people, he might actually appreciate it. And if this was all part of the same story, for both he and Tony, then it would always start a certain way, and Steve would always regret it. But there was a chance of – and a _point_ to – making a better ending. And if that was all the closure Steve could ever have for his past regrets… well, it certainly felt more meaningful than just skipping thorough history and watching his regrets in real time. It was a better life than he could’ve conceived of a few days ago, imperfections and all.

 

It was in that mood that Steve allowed himself to think about the strange and wonderful time he’d just shared with Tony – and the fact that it had ended. The bittersweet sadness of a beautiful moment becoming a perfect memory.

 

Steve had already recognised that it couldn’t last. It was, unfortunately, one of the first foundations of his new plan. Steve, as he was, could never be _part_ of Tony’s happily ever after. Tony’s perfect life couldn’t involve an actual relationship with someone as fundamentally changed, as _damaged,_ as Steve –

 

It couldn’t include a real connection to someone that simply couldn’t stay.

 

And he still hadn’t worked out exactly how long he would be here for, how much time it would really take to set everything up properly… But he knew there was another version of him out there in the ice, waiting to be discovered in a few years’ time. Steve would have to move on by then, at the latest. He knew, without even thinking about it, that there couldn’t be two of him hanging around – that he had until another version of himself turned up to do everything he could for Tony. And Nat. And all of them. And if Steve had to leave before he turned up, he couldn’t build anything with Tony before then. He couldn’t even try to make Tony love him, he couldn’t even _hope_ for that, because it would’ve hampered the overall goal. Tony falling in love with _this_ version of him would only mean heartbreak when he had to leave. Tony spending any longer curled up against Steve’s chest might mean he missed it when it ended, as it must.

 

And Tony was meant to end up with Pepper, and start a family. If Steve distracted Tony from that for any longer than he had, he could stop it from happening – and that was hardly the point of all this, was it?

 

Steve would have _loved_ to have taken Tony in his arms again. And again, and again… but this wasn’t about him. And he didn’t even mind that, because at least he knew what it _was_ about. He knew what he was suffering for – and suffering for something was comfortingly familiar. He would never again get to hold Tony the way he had last night. He might never get to feel that intimacy and happiness and love again. That was sad.

 

But at least he got to have it once.

 

That was unplanned, and unexpected, and entirely unlikely – and it had happened anyway. For the rest of Steve’s life, these few days would always be something that had happened. He would always remember having Tony like that, feeling Tony like that and making Tony feel like that. That was more than he’d ever hoped for. The plan that meant he couldn’t keep it did at least let him appreciate what he’d had, at the time.

 

Tony had helped him appreciate that. Tony had given him a way to understand it, and nothing would ever take that away.

 

*

 

If your own story always has a value from your own perspective, and the things that mattered to _you_ therefore always matter, then at least Steve could be sure that this night would always be significant.

 

To Steve, this would always be the night of Tony Stark’s 40th birthday party. And, even knowing that Tony would have other 40th birthdays throughout the space time continuum, this was still a unique event to _Steve_. Now, Steve saw this as a moment in a single, linear journey – a special moment, that he appreciated at the time. Whatever happened later, whatever had come before, whatever might be happening in a thousand other realities throughout the universe, Steve would always have walked into a party right there at Tony’s side. Tony even took Steve’s hand and gave it a little squeeze as they got out of the car – nothing would ever take _that_ moment away, either.

 

Tony hadn’t actually said much to Steve since Steve dropped the bombshell about his parents. He hadn’t emerged from the back of the jet until just before they began their descent, and even then it was only to make sure Steve could handle the landing. Steve had been keen to give Tony as much space as he needed, so he’d answered all of Tony’s questions as professionally as they’d been phrased, right up until their car had pulled up at Stark Industries. And then he’d looked at Tony, and tried to make an opportunity to check that he was okay – and Tony stopped him. He’d smiled, like he was trying to reassure Steve as opposed to the other way around, and simply said _I know we still have to do the whole Bucky Hydra thing properly. In a day or so, okay?_ And, of course, Steve had smiled back, _okay._

 

After that, Steve had been shown to a side room while Tony made his peace with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and goodness knew who else. Steve had spent most of that time as he’d spent the flight – quietly thinking about Tony. And then, an hour before his party was due to start, Tony had arrived at the door holding an evening suit. And when Steve questioned that, Tony simply said that Steve’s measurements were on file from way back in the forties – as though that were as much explanation as the gesture needed. And it was as much explanation as Steve asked for. He just put the suit on, and met Tony at the limo, and took the time to appreciate the fact that he was arriving at a party with Tony Stark – whatever had to happen afterwards.

 

Tony had made his excuses and slipped away from Steve’s side almost as soon as they walked though the door, citing the people he had to greet and the photos he had to pose for, et cetera. And Steve had smiled, and taken one last chance to think of the two days when there was nothing more than kissing Tony like he just _could_ … and then watched him go.

 

And then Steve reminded himself that he had things to do, too.

 

He spotted Nat almost immediately, sitting at the bar and watching him with a cool interest. He took a little breath before he walked over to her. He’d only planned as far as his opening – he knew Nat well enough to know there was no point in guessing where she’d go from there. He would just have to follow her lead, and trust that he had gotten to know the truth of her well enough to do this.

 

“You’ve caused quite a stir, Captain.” Nat said, by way of greeting. Steve just smiled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to” He shrugged, casually.

“Don’t believe you.” Nat told him, looking him right in the eye.

“No, really.” Steve laughed, “I didn’t even think if I would or not – the honest answer is that I didn’t think I’d be here this long, so why would I care?”

 

Nat considered him for a moment, taking a nonchalant little sip of her drink without ever taking her eyes off him. Steve tried to think of her as _Nat_ , to make his face and body relax into the same posture he’d always had around her, even while she scrutinised him as a stranger. Even though he could only _be_ a stranger to her, right now. He’d decided – _calculated,_ really – that it was best to give her as much of himself as the circumstances would allow.

 

Because _he_ knew that the world was about to shift under Nat’s feet. While she was planning contingencies and making mental notes, Steve already knew that everything was about to be immediately and brutally reset. And he knew what that was like.

 

And, yes, in isolation, this would have been better coming from a friend – if it weren’t _impossible_ now, it’d have been better coming from an equal. As Steve might’ve been, once… But the best he could do now was just be as open with her as he could. To at least drop the ego, not try to create an impression, avoid cryptic answers and riddles as much as possible. He knew it wouldn’t stop her from analysing him and questioning him and driving herself mad asking who she could really trust… but, hey, this was just going to be a shit conversation however he did it. It might be a little less shit, and Nat might be a little less anxious in the first instance, if Steve tried to be straight about it.

 

“So, why _are_ you still here?” Nat asked, eventually – and that was at least _one_ of the questions he thought she might ask. He’d had a chance to think about the answer to this one.

 

“You know about me in the forties, right? What happened to me before I disappeared in 1945?” He asked, and Nat just narrowed her eyes at him, _well, obviously._ “Right. Well, first off, they found me in the ice, in the year 2012 – a few weeks before the earth was attacked by aliens. So, I kinda got thrown straight out of 1945, and right into this team of people who were trying to save the world. And that was you, and Tony, and Clint…” He saw the little flicker of interest when he said Clint’s name, but knew better than to draw attention to it. “And a guy named Bruce Banner, who I’m guessing you’ve heard of, and a guy named Thor who is actually a Norse God.” And Nat raised her eyebrows, the same little impressed gesture that the average person gives a furniture sale.

“And is this getting to the answer to my question, or…?” She prompted, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Sorry, it’s a long story. Can’t help that.”

“So get on with it.”

“The thing is, that team… it was _so_ nearly… everything was _so_ nearly amazing, Nat. And I know… I know it will be impossible for you to believe this, because I remember how you felt about the world when I first met you, before what this team did for you… because I remember how sceptical I was about it, before.” This was the part Steve had thought about on the plane – never thinking she’d actually just sit there and let him run through it. But she was, so he went with it. “I know you feel like there’s no one out there that will ever understand how you see the world, that you’ll always be just a little bit different to everyone, that whatever comes next is just a compromise, the least worst option for how to live the rest of your life.”

“You know that?” Nat asked, sounding almost amused.

“You told me that. And I know that’s hard to accept, and it almost seems unfair to be held accountable for something _you_ haven’t even done yet and you’re sure you’ll never do – I’m a time traveller, I think about this stuff a lot. But it’s the truth. At some point, in some future, you really _did_ trust me enough to tell me that.”

 

Natasha did not show any reaction to that _at all_. She didn’t even freeze. Her face remained entirely natural, engaged and unflustered, as though she really could have been Natalie Rushman. And Steve almost smiled, thinking of just how good she was at this. In another league entirely to even the best of the best. Steve had been impressed by how well Tony reacted, when Steve parroted his own words back to him. That he’d sat there and listened as a stranger told him the very thoughts in his own head, and still had the presence of mind to maintain his armour, however overwhelmed he’d been – and then there was Nat.

 

Even after all those years as her friend and team mate, in spite of all the things he knew and all the things _she_ had told him for herself… looking at her now, Steve could almost believe this really wasn’t landing. That maybe this version of Nat really _didn’t_ care that he knew all this, _hadn’t_ be waiting for someone that understood it, _wasn’t_ affected by anything Steve had said so far… If he allowed himself to read the situation at all, he would have to conclude that it just wasn’t working. He had to keep telling himself that he knew Nat, that he _knew_ what she was thinking right now – however good she was at hiding it.

 

And damn, she was good…

 

“And the funny thing is, you were nearly right. It’s almost true that no one else is like you, that no one else would get.” Steve sighed a little smile. “Just this little handful of freaks, in all the world. It’s as unlikely as you think, finding a place you really could belong – but it’s not impossible.”

“So what went wrong?” Nat cut in, sounding almost impatient... or, Steve wondered if maybe that was the first hint of feeling bleeding through.

“Life” Steve exhaled, “things you wished you knew at the time, things you wish hadn’t happened the way they did, that’s all – and it didn’t go _wrong_ , exactly. We _did_ win, we saved the universe, a whole bunch of times… it’s just what it cost us. It’s just that it could’ve been so much better than it was, for so little…”

“And this is your second chance, is that it?” Nat frowned at him

“I suppose.” Steve conceded…

 

He recognised that he wasn’t here to be entirely truthful, after all.

 

He was here to _appear_ entirely truthful, to speak directly enough that Nat wouldn’t _feel_ as though he was hiding anything, or trying to trick her…. But it was all a means to an end. He knew immediately that he wasn’t going to explain his years spent lost in the wilderness. He’d never planned to tell her that this perspective on the world was entirely new to him, and borne out of desperation, and not sanctioned by anything other than his own immediate excitement about it. That wouldn’t have served his aims at all.

 

“The thing is, when I was first sent back through time, it was with a specific purpose. For us to win, and save the universe the first time… we had to go back in time, to collect these _infinity stones_ – these hugely powerful things that didn’t exist in the year 2023, so we had to go back in the past to find them. And after we did all that, I had to go and put them back where we found them. _That_ was actually what I was doing…” And it was a version of the truth, wasn’t it? It was something he could say without blushing, at least… “And, yeah, every time I stopped somewhere and did that, I’d think… maybe if I stayed, and did something differently… but it’s harder than you think.”

 

And then Steve decided to take a gamble.

 

“If you could choose a point in your own life to go back to – as you are, as a time traveller – when would you pick? What would you do, to change things for the better?” And he met Nat’s eye, and counted to three. Deliberately leaving enough time for her to think about it, even though he knew she’d never go to answer him. “And you start thinking… that’s too early, it changes too much… that’s too late, it wouldn’t change anything… if I stop this awful thing from happening, will that wonderful thing never happen after… so, you know, at the start, I didn’t really think I would, do this…”

“So why are you?” And _there_ it was. That wasn’t Natalie Rushman. That was Natasha.

“Because, when I got here, I just thought… this _is_ the right place.” He smiled, right at her. “Total fluke, but there it is… If I stay here a little longer, and do just those few things I didn’t know to do, before, then it really _could_ be amazing.”

 

There must have been two full minutes of silence between them then. Steve could see Nat making a point of keeping his eye. And then there was a warm bubble of laughter from the crowd behind him, and Steve glanced over his shoulder to see Tony standing in the middle of an enthralled crowd – Rhodey right beside him, rolling his eyes. When Steve looked back at Nat he saw her looking too, her brow creased in thought.

 

“I know you care about him” Steve told her. Nat blinked the thoughtful look away.

“I don’t know him.” She informed him.

“And yet.”

“And you?” She threw back at him. Steve didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m madly in love with him. Always have been. And you have always been one of my very best friends, and Clint and Thor and Bruce, and later Sam and Wanda and Vision…”

 

_who, thinking about it, you may never get to meet…_

 

Hm. File that one away for later analysis. Don’t let it derail this now.

 

“You were my family. You _are_ my family, even if you don’t know it yet… and I need you to know at the start that _this_ is why I’m doing this. That whatever individual things I want to change or undo, ultimately, it’s because I think I _can_ make things better for my family now – so why wouldn’t I?”

 

He’d thought about that bit on the plane, too. When he was thinking of how best to set this up so that it wasn’t hopeless at the end. How he could convince Nat that she was valuable and loved, how he could give her _some_ sort of world to look forward too after he took hers away… strange that he should feel guilty for that part of it. For taking such deliberate and calculated care of her feelings.

 

And Nat didn’t blink. Of course she didn’t. But, after another moments quiet thought, she asked him,

“So, you want to put together that team, do you?” And nothing in her tone suggested that she was remotely interested in the answer… but Steve knew it was enough that she’d asked.

 

He took another little breath. So this was the moment that _Nat’s_ life changed forever…

 

“Well, first, I want to take care of a problem inside SHIELD.”

 

 

The last of the guests were poured into their town cars at around two in the morning.

 

By then, Steve was standing on the balcony, looking up at the stars. He was vaguely aware of the music dying behind him, the general sound of things winding down… he knew he should probably start thinking about what he did next, but it was hard to pull away from his current thoughts.

 

He wondered where Nat was. If she was okay. But he didn’t wonder if he should have gone after her, like he would have when he was younger. He hoped she wasn’t doing anything reckless with the information he’d given her… but he didn’t feel responsible for it. He wasn’t sure whether that was a product of his experience as a time traveller, or just the fact that he’d grown up. His previous desperation to keep everything perfect and make everyone happy, that genuine belief that every sadness was such a big deal and every drawback would be the end of the world… it did all seem very reactionary and adolescent, now. Maybe he _was_ just older. Maybe it was just that.

 

Or, maybe, there were some benefits to this irreparable distance he now had from the rest of mankind. Strange and lonely though it was, it did make it easier to deal with crises like these. It was a bit like being a therapist or a teacher to everyone he met. He could empathise with their emotions and he could respect them and he could accept that they were important… but he couldn’t exactly join in with them.

 

Back when he was the same as everyone else, of course he’d asked why _he_ should make more concessions than anyone, _he’d_ been subject to the same unhelpful impulses as everyone, _he_ had no more idea what was real or right than anyone did… whatever impression he’d tried to give. Back then, he’d have run after Nat because _he_ wanted to, because his own anxiety and fear and anger would have been no less important than hers, because he’d have been no more capable of rational thought than she was.

 

But not anymore.

 

He had a power that Nat didn’t have – and, therefore, a responsibility. And it was cold and isolating, always being the one in that position…. But Steve had to admit, things did run more smoothly when _someone_ was. When one of you was capable of stepping back and letting others have their ugly emotions, without complicating them with your own. Being able to wait, magnanimously, until they were ready to talk to you, because there was no question of whether _you_ needed to talk to someone…

 

Now, Steve could see that both Nat and Tony had needed time with those revelations. That, as uncomfortable as this silence was for _him_ , it was better than whatever awkward or inappropriate intervention he could fill it with. That, maybe, _he_ would never be the right person to intervene here anyway. It was easier to recognise that Nat would probably go to Clint, that Tony might prefer to talk to Rhodey or Pepper about his parents, when no part of Steve was asking _and what about me?_

 

And then he felt a movement behind him, and he just knew.

 

“Hey.” He smiled, before he even turned around. And there was Tony. Tipsy perhaps, but not drunk, his body relaxed against the edge of the screen door. Steve felt his stomach melt, and ignored it.

“Hey.” Tony answered, his voice soft but not slurring, his smile not _quite_ suggestive.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve tried to keep his tone light. He wanted to give Tony the option of pretending that Steve wasn’t asking about his parents.

“Oh, like I got hit by a truck” Tony informed him with mock joviality, stepping onto the balcony. “Like… a few hours ago I found out that my parents were murdered, and that Hydra still exists. And also, like a few hours ago Captain America came back from the dead and saved my life, and made everything all better… also, there is a secret technological wonderland hidden under a dome in Africa, and there was a whole thing with some Vanko person that everyone has totally forgotten – and you never _did_ explain the whole thing with Nat… also time travel. So, y’know, a bit…thrown, is the answer to your question.” He finished with a smile, looking up at Steve. “But, good, actually. I feel good.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathed, willing himself to get over how much he loved Tony right now…

“Yeah. I do. I feel… _alive_.” He shrugged, and took a step closer.

 

And he _smiled_ at Steve…

 

Steve felt it as an immediate kick to the gut. It had never occurred to him that Tony would want to return to that easy intimacy, after what Steve had told him. He’d just assumed that learning that secret would push Tony away from him… although, he wasn’t sure _why_ …

 

But it was too late to think about that now. Now he had to think, very quickly, about how to handle a situation he never imagined would come up. What to do if Tony still wanted him… and, oh, he still wanted Tony… but there were reasons it was for the best that Tony didn’t – shouldn’t-

 

“Steve?” There was a questioning look in Tony’s eyes…somewhere between fearful and trusting… heart-breaking. Oh God.

 

But Steve had to be the responsible one here.

 

“I love you more than I could possibly tell you…” Steve whispered. “And I wish I could stay here with you – you have no idea how much. But… you have to know, I can’t…”

 

And Tony actually relaxed. That was unexpected… But undeniable. Whatever tension had started to build in his shoulders when Steve withdrew from him, that explanation had apparently helped. The smile that had started to fade brightened again, into something more amused than lascivious this time. It gave Steve pause, for a moment…

 

But he was the responsible one here, so he carried on.

 

“There is a version of me out there in the ice, and one day he is going to be discovered. And I don’t much care about sending anyone to find him now, because _I_ know that he doesn’t know what’s happening to him, and that 2012 will be the same as 2010 from _his_ point of view… but there will come a point… and, you know I can’t be here then?”

 

Actually, in this moment, Steve wasn’t sure _why_ there couldn’t be two of him – although he was still convinced there couldn’t. And he didn’t know whether he was just waiting for Tony to acknowledge that irrational fact, or if he was hoping Tony would explain that irrational fact… when, of course, Tony said something else entirely.

 

“I _do_ know how to have a summer romance, Steve.”

 

And Steve almost said, _say that again,_ he liked it so much.

 

It was immediate, and instinctive, an understanding that washed over him before he had time to find words. A sudden assurance that that was just _perfect_ , and all he had to do was work out why…

 

_A summer romance…?_

“Hm?” He murmured.

“I know we’re not getting _married_ , Steve” Tony grinned, his speech patterns exaggerated just slightly by drink, “And… to be honest, its not even the time travel thing. I didn’t even get that far – because this whole thing is _batshit.”_ He took another, heavy, step closer. “And you know why I say that?”

“Why do you say that?” Steve indulged him.

“Honestly… that night in Monaco? What was that, last night? The night before? That was… I still don’t get how you can have been _that_ into me, like, that focused on _me –_ and it still have been like I wasn’t there…”

 

Wow. That was…

 

“And I don’t mind that” Tony carried on, before Steve had a chance to work out what that was. “It was… _fun_ … but it wasn’t _real_ , was it? It wasn’t…” and Steve watched Tony struggle with the words for quite a time before he surrendered. “… I know we’re not getting married, is all.”

“And that’s a summer romance...?” Steve prompted, and Tony smiled.

“…not everything has to _last_ , Steve. And not everything has to _be_ everything…some things can just be what they are. The point is, did you think it was going to last when you started it? Because if both of you know it isn’t going to… And, if it helps at all… I didn’t think this was going to last when I _started_ it.” Tony shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean it has to stop right now… does it?”

 

_Oh, Tony…_

 

Oh, how did he do this, every time? Steve had just worked everything out, he really had understood and made peace with his role in the world now – not more than three minutes ago. He knew it didn’t involve any sort of relationship with Tony… he’d been so sure it _couldn’t,_ because there just wasn’t a version of it that fit with the new rules of his reality… and now Tony just casually throws a solution at him, _have you thought about doing this...?_ And, obviously, he hadn’t, and of course it just felt like the _perfect_ solution…

 

_You’re not supposed to be looking for solutions for you at all…_

 

But Tony apparently recognised something in Steve’s hesitation, and stepped back. And there was an immediate pinch of regret, an instant desire to step closer and grab him-

 

Tony spoke before Steve could act on it.

 

“How long are you planning on staying Steve? A day? Two? A week, a month, longer than that?”

“Longer than that.” Steve gave about the only answer he had.

“Hm. Okay, so – you have a room at my place for as long as you want it.” Tony told him, taking another little step back. “And, if you want to just say _there_ for ‘longer than a month’, that’s fine… but if, at any point, you want to come to _my_ room…” He made a point of catching Steve’s eye before he carried on “Then just know that _I_ know you’ll have to leave some day… but that I’m _really_ okay with having one single summer of batshit. Okay?”

 

The _only_ thing that stopped Steve from kissing Tony then was just how much he wanted to. Because, surely, anything he wanted _that_ much, and that purely, much come with some cost? The one thing Steve had learned from all his years on earth was that nothing was that simple. For him to want Tony this badly… and if Tony still wanted him… if there really was no reason not to indulge it for a little longer…. But there _must_ be a reason….

 

_A summer romance…_

 

A few months… a few _whole_ months in which Steve could enjoy Tony, and indulge Tony, and share all those wonderful experiences with Tony…

 

_There must be a reason I can’t…_

 

Tony flashed another warm smile before he disappeared inside. Steve let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He had to tell himself to get a grip – _you’re the responsible one now, remember?_ And even if Steve wasn’t entirely sure of the responsible thing to do… he could be quite sure of what it wasn’t. It obviously wasn’t acting on this impulse _right now_. At the very least he should think about it, before he did anything drastic…

 

And he definitely _would_ be thinking about that idea tonight, whatever he decided to do about it…

 

He waited until his heart had slowed, and he thought he wasn’t blushing anymore…and, to be honest, until he thought Tony would have gone up to bed. In the short term, it was best to leave this alone…leave Tony alone…

 

For tonight, at least.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was still wide awake come daybreak, staring at the ceiling of Tony Starks guest room and trying to decide if he was meant to be thinking or trying not to overthink…

 

God, he hadn’t felt like this since…he hadn’t _been_ like this since…

 

_Was_ this a good thing? He thought he’d really missed these human emotions, that he’d been scared of never feeling again - but this was shit. And he so clearly remembered how shit _all_ of this was the first time around, the doubt, the frustration, _the anxiety_ …Why had he wanted to be like this, again? What _did_ he want, anyway?

 

Well, he wanted Tony….but that aside…

 

_It’s not about what you want anymore though, is it? You’re supposed to be beyond that, aren’t you?_

 

Steve actually groaned at his own internal monologue. _This again?_

He’d often wished his epiphanies could be cleaner. That was a feeling he remembered from before… He’d spent so much of his life looking for the ‘right’ answer, trying to work out how to be a good person, trying to find an order or a reason or a morality for the chaos of the world.

 

And it wasn’t that he never felt as though he’d found it. That would be fine. If it was that, he’d have just kept looking. It was the endless, tedious cycle of thinking he’d found it, and telling himself he was a whole new person now… and then having it all fall to pieces again. He thought he’d found meaning in the mission of Allies and the fight against Hitler… only to wake up in a world where blind loyalty to the American dream seemed a very different thing. So he’d thrown himself into SHIELD… and then The Avengers… and then just the ideal of Captain America… and then there had been nothing. And here he was again, all ready to commit to this whole new mission and meaning and vision of himself –

 

Until Tony threw another curveball at him. That was all it had taken for him to feel like he was eighteen years old again, the same curdling, personal doubts about who he was and what the _hell_ he was doing…

 

He’d been so ready to commit to this one, simple idea. He’d been so sure of the meaning in it, so confident that he’d considered the morality of it – certain that, this time, he’d thought about it all so carefully… And all he’d had to do was look from a slightly different angle, and maybe he’d actually just gotten carried away with a ridiculous impulse and then immediately proceeded to upend everyone’s life…

 

His chest hurt.

 

And it wasn’t just that the mission kept changing or the world kept changing or that the very nature or right and wrong and reality itself kept changing… Steve just couldn’t keep a consistent idea of _himself_. He’d spent his whole life thinking he’d _done it_ , that he’d finally learned the truth and overcome the demons and become the person he was meant to be… only to find himself looking back and thinking what an ass he’d been.

 

He really thought that’d been _it_ , when he stepped out of that container as Captain America, he thought _that_ was the story… and as it turned out, it had barely been the set up. That didn’t even make him a Howling Commando, yet. He hadn’t even met Tony Stark yet – so, of course, he hadn’t known that the story of his life hadn’t even started then, that this was all just a device to get to where he was really meant to be… he’d thought. He thought he’d finally _got_ _it_ when he became an Avenger, and then… And he thought he’d finally got it after what happened in Siberia…even if he never did get to make amends…

 

And then Steve died.

 

Whether he ever thought those exact words, that was the way he felt. That’s what he’d understood it to be, when he finally realised that he’d never had any intention of going back. That he obviously _couldn’t_ go back, that there was nothing… that this was after the end. Steve’s story had been and gone. And even his impulsive, narrow minded plan to do something with the afterwards had somehow taken that into account. As delighted as he was to think he wouldn’t spend his ‘afterlife’ in a meaningless, empty hell, he’d never thought of it as living again. Just feeling like he was, just for a little bit, while hoping that maybe it had some meaning for others – but still, really knowing that it didn’t matter if it did or not. Only that Steve could convince himself. Steve had thought that if he could just manage the human complexities in a mature way, _this_ plan could avoid the existential questions…

 

Oh, now naive.

 

And the thing that had snagged him was the simple realisation that he wasn’t beyond wanting at all. The _way_ he wanted this... The fact that it wasn’t a whimsical longing, a bittersweet feeling of regret, like he should be feeling about all of this, as the grown up in this situation, from after the end. It was an immediate, petulant thing… The fact that he wanted Tony, for himself, here and now – that he was actually _tempted…_

 

And that just shouldn’t apply.

 

And the very fact that it did apply meant that Steve had no choice but to think about it. Tony Stark had suggested they have a _summer romance_ , he couldn’t _not_ think about it. Even daydreaming about it, which was the _least_ his brain was going to do with that idea tonight, still brought up all those questions he thought wouldn’t trouble this. Questions he thought didn’t matter anymore.

 

Questions he thought he’d fucking answered once.

 

He knew he’d not answered everything, but Steve thought he’d at least got as far as understanding that he was fundamentally different to all people now – whether he stayed travelling though time or wherever he went ‘home’ to. This entire plan had been premised on the acceptance of that, it was based on the idea that he was doing everything _for_ Tony, and the others, that he would take a different sort of joy and closure from that. But the _way_ he wanted Tony now…

 

It felt very much like how a normal person would want someone.

 

It could _actually_ be the same way that Tony wanted him. It wasn’t about the things Steve knew or the things Steve regretted, or the special powers Steve had now – it was just that Steve was so fucking lonely. Just that. And not the deep spiritual loneliness he’d been wrestling with out here in the wilderness, or even the isolating loneliness of being a forties man in a twenty first century world… Steve had never had someone to wake up next to, his whole entire life. He’d never had anyone to come home to. He’d never cooked for someone, or bought a little gift for someone, or had someone to call and check plans for later. He’d never had someone he could just sit next to on the couch, or kiss good morning, or put his arms around without having to explain… Steve had spent his whole life never just being able to touch another person. Never being able to rely on that or take it for granted. And it turned out, he _did_ want that. In a perfectly human, stupidly selfish, just-did-not-fit-with-the-ideology way. Even if it was only for a few months, the idea of any sort of _relationship…_

 

So that meant that Steve wasn’t as fundamentally detached from reality as he’d thought. And that meant he had to think about what he _did_ want, all over again.

 

_Again._

 

And he couldn’t just tell himself that he wasn’t allowed this, apparently. Some part of him wanted it dearly enough to demand an explanation, to keep on reminding him of all the arguments Tony had made, like a little shoulder devil. So now he had to think about what his role was now, and what his responsibilities were…

 

And _did_ certain things have to happen, just because they had before? Was Tony really _meant_ to be with Pepper, just because-

                _You’re just thinking that because you want that to be true_

_Yeah, but it’s not necessarily wrong just because I want it to be true_

_But you know you can’t stay_

_…Why can’t you stay?_

_Jesus Christ, you can’t start questioning anything that fundamental_

_There can’t be two of you_

_But even if you can’t stay, if Tony says he knows what he’s getting into_

_But you have to be the responsible one_

  * _Why do you? I thought you were being all mature and accepting you couldn’t control everything and giving people the freedom to react-_



_Yeah, well, I’m clearly not being mature, am I? I’ve spent all night lying awake thinking about playing house with Tony Stark like some love sick teenager-_

_You’re just using him. You just want someone_ _to cuddle-_

_No, I love…_

_…Yeah, now you have to think all over again about which one you love and the way you love him…_

_…and if I’m undoing the life I did have with him_

_Well, what is he using you for-_

_Since when do you think like that? In what reality is that moral_-

 

And then, for the first and only time, Steve considered stopping this whole thing.

 

He’d spent all night asking himself, _why am I doing this?_ Suffering a general, ominous feeling of doubt… But this was the first time he’d really faced the choice. Maybe part of him recognised that it was the last time he could make this choice… but he knew, if he wanted to, he _could_ wind it all back from here. If it’d turned out that he didn’t want the confusion and the stress after all, if he _was_ just too damaged to have any part of it, now was the time to decide. He could probably still convince himself that none of this was real at all. He could run back to the uncertainties of the universe that had terrified him, he could actually take comfort in the meaningless of it all – if he wanted, he could have that _instead._ He could choose to believe that nothing he did was right or wrong, that he wasn’t anything, that he could do what he liked with Tony and he wouldn’t have missed out on anything if he didn’t…

 

…Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it was a moment too late.

 

But the answer was no, anyway.

 

Even now, when Steve’s head was as chaotic as it had _ever_ been – no, he didn’t want the numbness back. And the thought of trying to convince himself that Tony wasn’t real, that it had all been a game… he didn’t _want_ it to be a game.

 

It just _wasn’t_ a game, anymore.

 

Tony was real, and it was all part of the same story, and Steve _did_ just want to make Tony happy, and that did matter. There _was_ a meaning in that, he was sure of it…

 

And that meant he had to think about what it actually _was_. It meant he had to think about all sorts of things he’d thought would be simple, or hadn’t thought would come up at all…

 

But, hey, at least he’d made _a_ choice. At least, as it turned out, he was sure of _something_ …that was a start, right? Never mind that it was the same start he’d made two days ago…

 

And if Steve hadn’t reached exactly that point in his relentless analysis, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

 

If it had been a few minutes earlier, while Steve had been in the middle of arguing with himself, he probably wouldn’t have heard if someone had actually rung the doorbell. But, as it happened, he’d just reached a natural lull in his own head, a moment when he’d run out of words but not run out of energy. Accidentally entirely focused on the silence in the house around him.

 

Two footfalls, out in the lounge – _so soft they had to be sinister._ No one makes an effort to move that quietly unless they have to be somewhere in secret… No one moves that quietly unless they’ve been _trained_ to-

 

Ah.

 

Steve paused, his shirt thrown over his shoulders. _Unless…_

 

Steve moved as quickly as he could anyway, just to be safe. He checked the windows and the doorways first out of habit, his body falling into combat stance instinctively… but by the time he saw her, Steve was expecting it. Steve just relaxed his shoulders, and smiled.

 

“Hey Nat.”

 

She didn’t react to seeing him, of course. She just stood there, perfectly naturally; her arms crossed loosely across her chest. Steve could see her thinking, so he waited.

 

“So, obviously, I can’t exactly _investigate_ any of what you told me…” She began, like she was holding her breath. “But… maybe your story isn’t so crazy.”

“You looked into it, then?” He asked, casually, walking further into the room.

“Not that anyone would know…yet.” And she caught his eye, like a dare. Steve took a soft breath as he put his plan back into order, barely realising that he’d stepped right back into it. How much of his life had happened like this… the actions he’d been forced to take before he’d had time to think about it, the things he fell back on when he’d not come up with anything else yet…

 

But he _had_ decided that there had to be something. That was the one, very basic choice he’d managed so far – but he’d made it. He would rather anything, however difficult, complicated or even entirely arbitrary, than there be nothing. Whether this was important, or he’d just made it important… it was done now. So, as he hadn’t had the time to work out all the finer details… or nearly as many or the details as he’d thought… he’d just have to do his best.  

 

“I told you, Natasha, I’m not going to _tell_ you how to handle this thing” He reminded her, gently “I just want to help.”

“And what exactly are you willing to help _with_?” She challenged.

“I _want_ to see Hydra wiped out, and I want to help Bucky… and, yeah, it’d be nice if that could happen with a little less collateral damage, _this time_ …” Steve told her, “But I’m not going to _tell_ you how to do that. And I’m certainly not going to try to stop you if you really do want try fixing this thing for yourself – I know better.” He flashed her a smile that she _almost_ returned.

“But you don’t think I _should_ try fixing this thing for myself.”

“…I don’t know.” Steve confessed, with a shrug. “The first time we brought down SHIELD, we had about half an hour to do it in. Hydra knew we were on to them before we were even really onto them… that was when I _found out_ about Bucky, so I was still trying to think of _that_ …” Nat had raised her eyebrows at him in a _get to the point_ sort of gesture, and he laughed softly. “My point is, we didn’t exactly have a lot of options, and we didn’t have much time to think about the ones we had, and we couldn’t run them by _anyone_ else… and it’s one thing to think, _was what we did wrong_? _What if we hadn’t done it_? You know… But it’s another thing to think about what _else_ you could have done. If you’d made use of all the resources you might’ve had, if you’d had a bit more time…”

“So, you want to talk about it, is that it?” Nat summarised coolly.

“Is that such a ridiculous idea?”

“…talk about it with _who_?”

“Well, I was thinking you, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Clint Barton, Tony…” Steve suggested.

“Why us?”

“I know I can trust you all” Steve answered simply.

“ _I_ don’t know that.” Nat told him, glancing over Steve’s shoulder in a way he assumed was meant to indicate Tony. Steve straightened his shoulders defensively. As important as it was that he was supportive and understanding of Nat… nothing was ever going to turn him against Tony. Oh, how about that – there was another thing he had decided, for certain. He was absolutely, 100% always going to have Tony Stark’s back for as long as he was here, in every conversation, in every circumstance, at any level he was challenged. So that was two things, then.

“Well, you asked me why _I_ chose those people” Steve replied, “And that’s the answer.”

 

Nat looked at him for a moment.

 

“And while we’re hanging around here _debating_ all this, Hydra are out there running SHIELD?” She asked. Steve exhaled, heavily.

“You know, the first time around, we didn’t find out about any of this until 2014.”

“So what does that mean?” She frowned at him.

“I don’t know” Steve admitted. “I’m just saying… it _is_ a fact, that there was a reality where we all lived, and time travel hadn’t occurred to us, and things just happened when they happened and then we asked if we’d saved the day or not. And, it _is_ a fact that, in that reality, we brought down SHIELD in 2014, and we thought we’d saved the day, and the world carried on turning… and we didn’t even think that everything had fallen apart until two years after that. The aftermath of that was actually some of the best times…” And then Steve frowned, and brought himself back to the point with a little shake of his head. “And that’s just… what happened. So, you tell me, _does_ that mean something?”

 

She kept his eye for a second longer…and then she dropped her gaze. Steve suddenly realised how tired she looked.

 

“…Did you call Clint?” He asked, softly. She shook her head.

“Not yet.” She answered quietly. “Or Nick. Did you-”

“No, not yet.” Steve assured her. “I haven’t explained this part to Tony, yet. Didn’t get the chance to get that far… It’s just you, at the moment.” She gave a little nod of her head, still not meeting his eye. “Hey, look, if you want – I’m awake, now. You can have my bed, if you want to get some rest, before you do anything…” She looked up at him, her eyes amused, still a certain sadness in her smile.

“You don’t think Stark would object to that?”

“His name’s Tony, and why, are you planning to fuck him over in some way?” Steve replied in a single nonchalant breath.

“No”

“Then why would he mind?” Steve offered. She smiled, and she _did_ glance at the door to Steve’s room… but she didn’t move.

 

“Okay, well, I’m going to let Tony know you’re here, anyway.” Steve sighed, already walking away. “So, if you change your mind…”

“You trust me to just stay here?” She asked, as though she was simply intrigued. Steve stopped, and smiled at her.

“Why, are you planning on doing something bad?” He asked, and she raised an eyebrow _okay, it was cute the first time, but.._ “It’s okay, JARVIS has his eye on you.” He added, and if anything, Nat seemed to relax a little at the idea that he _hadn’t_ trusted her completely…

 

He really hoped he could help Nat, this time. It probably said a lot about him, that it was much simpler thinking about Nat than Tony at the moment… but for as long as he had to _do_ something, it was nice to feel a little less conflicted over it.

 

 

It wasn’t yet six in the morning, but Steve still just assumed that Tony would be awake. He always assumed Tony was awake…

 

And, on this occasion, he was right. He found Tony in his workshop, music already blaring, scrolling through holographic blueprints like he’d had nine hours sleep. Oh, and wearing only a pair of longue pants that hung just a little low on his hips… Steve shook that thought away before it had time to turn into anything.

 

“Hey” He spoke as he walked into the room… realising as he did it that Tony must’ve told JARVIS to let him in…

“Morning Lover.” Tony grinned playfully, barely turning away from what he was looking at.

 

And, oh, Steve’s heart ached at that. Would Tony call him by pet names, if they did decide to…

 

_Would he have had pet names for you, if it really had all been different…_

 

“So, Nat’s upstairs.” Steve informed him, and Tony glanced up with more interest.

“She okay?” He asked, and Steve smiled.

“Yeah, she’s… well, maybe not _okay…”_ he trailed off into a sigh. Tony just carried on with the questioning look. “So, the short answer is that Hydra, as they are currently operating, are operating _within_ SHIELD.”

“…SHIELD are Hydra?” Tony frowned at him, dismissing his holograms completely now.

“Not exactly… A lot of SHIELD are just SHIELD, they really are doing the job they think they’re doing. But, yeah, a lot of people within SHIELD are secretly working for Hydra. Which means a lot of the people who really _think_ they’re working for SHIELD are actually taking orders from Hydra.”

“So when Fury-”

“No, no, Nick Fury has no idea any of this is going on” Steve intervened immediately, shaking his head “He’s one of the good guys… Nat had no idea. And SHIELD are kind of her family, right now… So, she’s received some pretty devastating news…”

“Yeah, there’s a bad case of the Hydras going around at the moment” Tony exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

 

And Steve thought… _that was nice_. To hear Tony immediately empathise with Nat like that, the fact that he instantly took it that they were all victims of the same evil… the fact that, in her own way, Nat had been testing the ground before she put her faith in Tony, the fact that she’d asked if he’d object to her being there. The fact that Nat came back at all, the fact that Tony _didn’t_ mind. Steve wondered… had _he_ done that? _Could_ he take some comfort, some credit, for how much better this part seemed to be going? Seeing as he was already torturing himself with everything he might’ve inadvertently complicated, it seemed only fair…

 

“So, wait, does this mean SHIELD are the one’s who are controlling Bucky?” Tony asked more suddenly – and Steve smiled again at the way Tony was calling Bucky by his name.

“…If I’m going to explain all of this part, we should probably do it upstairs with Nat” He suggested, and Tony just nodded, _okay_. And as he turned, Steve’s gaze fell onto the dip at Tony’s waist, and there was that instant urge to touch…

 

It was probably a combination of being exhausted and overcome, but the next thought in Steve’s head just slipped out of his mouth.

 

“So, I have a question.” Steve heard himself say. Tony turned around again, his t-shirt in his hand, and raised his eyebrows, _shoot_. “…the first time we brought down Hydra, it was 2014. So, in another reality, they kept on operating for another four years. And that was what happened. And then, we won, and everyone just thought we’d won, no one even asked what about the last four years, or the last forty years. But, in this reality, I just told Nat that Hydra are working inside SHIELD, so that must be an emergency, right? We have to stop this right _now…_ ” Steve looked up to find Tony just watching him think all this out loud. “So, my question is, do we actually have years to think about this, or not?” And then Tony smiled.

“Can I pick a third option?” He asked. A giggle bubbled over Steve’s lips.

“Well of course you would.” He sighed, affectionately. And Tony just kept smiling at him for a moment.

 

“So…when I was a kid, like, six or seven, my parents put me in this summer programme for gifted children, that I think is really just a place for kids too young to be diagnosed as sociopaths-”

“So what were you doing there?” Steve cut in with a little smile. Just part of his general plan to spend the rest of his time here correcting anyone that put Tony down – including Tony.

“…Suffering.” Tony stumbled only slightly before he carried on. “So, anyway, one of the things they gave us to do was this puzzle made out of all these little coloured shapes, and they didn’t tell you what it was going to look like at the end. You just had to work it out. So, within fifteen minutes I’ve put it together, and it’s a flower” He gave a little unimpressed shrug “And then, five minutes later, I get bored and take it to pieces, and just start putting shapes together in different ways… and after a while, I make a shark. Not in a neat little square, but it’s _definitely_ a shark. I used the little triangles for teeth, and everything. And I made a castle, I think… and a turtle…” He looked up at Steve, clearly waiting for him to interrupt or ask Tony what his point was. And Steve just wanted to listen to Tony talk like this forever…so, after a little pause… “ _Anyway_ , after however long, the counsellor asks what it was, and half the kids say it was a flower – and the counsellor says _that’s right_ ” And Tony gave an exaggerated frown, _can you believe that?_ “So, I point out, that isn’t _all_ it is. I even show then how to make the shark. And I can see the counsellor giving me _that_ look, and then she says ‘well that’s very clever Tony’ except the tone is ‘shut up you smart mouth piece of shit’… but the flower is the _proper_ answer.”

“And you don’t think there is a proper answer…?” Steve asked, not sure if he liked his own question. Above all things, he didn’t want Tony to tell him there _were_ no real answers. _Is anything truly real,_ felt like a particularly dangerous strand of philosophy to be discussing, given that it was the _one_ thing he’d decided he needed to believe in…

“ _I_ pointed out that there was clearly more than one proper answer… I could _see_ the other answers, so I knew they were real. They were _there_ … And then there was this teenager telling me that one real answer was more real than another real answer, because that was the ‘proper’ answer. And I just thought… the whole world is like that. It’s just a huge space full of all these millions of tiny brightly coloured shapes, and you can put them together in _any_ order, and you can build all kinds of things with the same materials… and, okay, you can’t build _anything_ with them. Maybe some things aren’t possible, with those shapes, maybe there are some basic laws of reality… but, really, most of them just _aren’t_. Most of the time, we do things a certain way because it’s the way we’re taught, or what we got told first, but that doesn’t make that way better. It doesn’t make it the right way – just one right way. And, really, you _should_ be able to put things together in any number of ways and just decide which way is the best way, right?”

 

And all Steve could think was how much he _wanted_ Tony. Not just to touch… how much he wanted to keep him. To _have_ this… to have someone he could talk to about this sort of thing at six in the morning. Someone he could just be around when he felt lost, someone to fill the silence. And not just someone – someone that could say _that_. Someone who would think of something interesting, and comforting, even if Steve didn’t really know why it was…

 

“I guess the short answer to your question was…” Tony sounded ever-so-slightly self-conscious, now that he’d realised Steve really wasn’t going to shut him up “At any given time, you’ve got as many options as you can make. And, usually, that’s _thousands_. Really, it’s _never_ do or die – and the very least, it’s usually do or do something else or don’t do or die. And since you’ve brought this to our attention _now_ … I guess we can act now, or the next day, or the next day, or the next day… I guess we can do any number of things about it, and there will be good and bad to all of them. But I think its usually better to look at all of your options and pick the best one, rather than limiting yourself to _go tonight_ or _chill for four years._ Maybe _act reasonably quickly but still think about it for a weekend_ makes more sense, or something?”

“That all sounds worryingly sensible” Steve whispered, over a sudden welling of emotion “Your reckless reputation doesn’t seem to fit with this…”

“Ah, well, its only reckless after what happens.” Tony informed Steve brightly. “When you think about a thousand options, and decide that the least worst is the one where things blow up. Then no one knows about the things that didn’t happen, they just know you blew something up. But, thank you – yes, I _do_ put a lot more thought into my crazy schemes than I’m given credit for, actually…” His tone was mocking now, deliberately hamming it up – saying nice things about himself so that Steve would stop trying to.

 

As it happened, Steve couldn’t find words enough for how much better he felt. And not even because Tony had said anything hugely influential this time – although Steve did quite like that whole idea, and wanted to think about it some more… it didn’t matter, right now. What mattered was that, when Steve couldn’t sleep because of the noise in his head, he could just come and find _company_. He could just say it out loud, to someone who would talk to him about this stuff. He couldn’t help it if it made him wonder what it would really be like to _have_ this…

 

“C’mon – if Pepper finds out I’ve left a spy unattended in the lounge, she’ll kill me” Tony told him in a cheerful voice-

 

And before Steve could think to stop himself, he’d grabbed Tony by the wrist and pulled him into his arms.

 

Tony just went with it, coming to a stop against Steve’s chest with a soft little ‘oh’. And Steve knew immediately that this was a bad idea, that it was mixed messages at the very least –

 

But he really did just want to _hold_ him for a second, that was all. He really wasn’t going to do anything more than that, and okay, he knew it was probably _still_ a bad idea, but..

 

And Tony just let him. He didn’t try to push it further, or say anything, or pull away. He just put his head on Steve’s shoulder, and let Steve fold his arms around him, his bare chest pressed up against Steve’s open shirt so that Steve could feel him, skin to skin… He didn’t move until Steve did, muttering, _yeah, okay, we should…_ to himself.

 

And maybe Steve did know, even then. None of his epiphanies were ever clean, after all. He would never have started a ‘summer romance’ with Tony Stark in a clear and definite way – just wasn’t in his nature, apparently. No, it was just far more likely that he’d have this thing start with a hug, and a desperate race to convince himself that he hadn’t done anything, and he wasn’t going to do anything…

 

When really, it had already started.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve had spent a lot of time wondering about inevitability, once.

 

Back when everything broke down, when he first started to struggle with the question of where to go next, it was because he was wondering… Was he really changing _anything_? Would it… matter? A shadowy worry that eventually came into focus, that became questions like…if his future _was_ already out there somewhere… Did that mean all the outcomes were inevitable, whatever he did? Did that mean his own actions were inevitable, however much he agonised over them? Did that mean _all_ the endings were always out there, all the millions of universes in which Thanos did win… were those people always suffering somewhere, wherever _he_ ended up?

 

Back then, Steve had asked himself the question – what is _inevitable_? What does it _mean_? And either there simply wasn’t an answer… or there was that memory.

_I am inevitable…_

That moment had come back to him so many times, sometimes with no apparent reason, sometimes in the middle of conversations, always as he was trying to get to sleep – always, of course, when his turbulent thoughts tumbled into that general area anyway. That horrible, high definition flashback.

_I am inevitable._

_And I am-_

 

No. No, no, no. Steve had stopped thinking about inevitability, in the end. He’d stopped thinking even about that final battle, that final moment... He’d stopped thinking about everything. He’d left time itself, he’d stepped outside of consequences, he’d moved beyond caring whether life was predetermined or not. He’d just _died_.

 

And then there was that moment in Monaco.

 

And now, amongst other things, Steve was back wondering whether certain things were inevitable…

 

Like when Nat had suggested that they gather their new team at Clint’s farmhouse, because it was out of the way, and completely off SHEILDs radar, and at least familiar to some of them… And Steve had just nodded along while she spoke, and thought,

 

_This is inevitable._

 

Of course, right after he thought that he’d tried to talk himself out of it. Tried to tell himself that it was just an excuse, a way to absolve himself of the responsibility of what he _wanted_ to do. He hadn’t kissed Tony again, and that meant he didn’t _have_ to.

 

Even if they were going back to Clint’s house...

 

Okay, it might be inevitable that he’d get there and remember the last time… which was about as painfully as he’d ever wanted Tony, as dearly as he’d ever wished that _any_ of the circumstances were different, as desperate as he’d ever been to not be himself for just five minutes… but that didn’t mean he _had_ to.

 

So for the whole of the next day, while Nat finally slept in the guest room, Steve sat quietly in Tony’s workshop and fought the urge to touch. He argued with himself relentlessly as he watched Tony work, never managing to answer any of his points before another one popped up. And without a conclusion, Steve had to go with that feeling that it _must_ be wrong… That, at least, he couldn’t do it unless he was _sure_ it was right… and he couldn’t possibly be _sure_ it was right…

 

But still, there were moments… little things Tony said, the way Tony smiled at him, the lingering pause when Steve said he was going to bed… moments when Steve just _knew_ it was going to happen.

 

Like the following morning, the moment when they actually pulled up on Clint’s drive.

 

The sky was covered with a blanket of light grey cloud, the air warm and heavy with the promise of rain. It smelled of wheat, and dust, and that same floral scent Steve couldn’t put his finger on last time… It felt like everything Steve had ever missed out on. It felt like _summer_ , it felt like vacations and festivals and taking your kid to camp, like barbeques and picnics and Sunday mornings with nothing to do, parties and plans and _romances._

 

As soon as Steve looked up at that house, he knew – this was everything he’d ever wanted, encapsulated in a single fragment of time. Whether it existed once, or a million times throughout reality, it didn’t change what it meant for Steve to be here, now.

 

And it wasn’t the house or the marriage or the kids; it wasn’t as simple as looking at Clint’s life and wanting it. It hadn’t been _that_ the first time, although it had been easier to pretend it was. He couldn’t really explain, even to himself, what it really was… But he remembered this strange idea he’d had, wondering what it would have been like to turn up here with a regular group of friends after some _ordinary_ crisis. If he’d lived a different life, ended up as the sort of person that took road trips or had long weekends in the woods, if they’d all taken shelter here because their car broke down or their cabin caught fire, or something a normal person would’ve called a catastrophe. This weird impulse he’d had to find the real-world equivalent of the moment they were in, just so he knew what he was jealous of…

 

But he was sure, somewhere in the realms of _ideas_ , there was a version of him that could’ve come to this place and just thought it was pretty, and comfortable, and … _exciting_ , in that way normal people are allowed to find random things exciting, without having to explain it. If he could just _picture_ a version of him that lived that way, someone who’d throw their arms around Tony on an impulse because they wanted to, because emotions were running high and because of where they were in the moment… Someone who could take comfort, in a time of crisis. Someone who didn’t always have to take control.

 

It wasn’t Clint’s life he wanted, when he was here. It was his own.

 

And now, standing in Clint’s front yard again, it wasn’t that Steve was remembering those feelings. It was that he was feeling them all over again. Right here, right now, _this_ Steve wanted to throw his arms around Tony – _this_ Tony. This Steve wanted to just be in that sort of mood, for it be enough that it seemed like a good idea at the time. He wanted to say he’d share a room with Tony, to be the sort of person that would curl up close and kiss him after everyone else was asleep, just because they were somewhere else and it was that sort of day and they _could_.

 

The first time Steve had come here, he’d wished for so many things. He’d wished that he wasn’t caught in that stupid lie about Bucky, and Tony’s parents. He’d wished that he’d reacted differently when Ultron happened, that Ultron hadn’t happened _at all_. He’d wished he could escape the image he’d spent three years deliberately propping up. He wished he’d seen passed Tony’s image earlier and not treated him so badly for so long.

 

…He’d wished that Tony didn’t have a girlfriend. He’d wished there was any hope that Tony could actually _want_ him, even if it was just for that one night.

 

And now here he was – all wishes granted. No secrets, no guilt, no history between them. No girlfriend, no doubt that it _could_ happen… except that it couldn’t. Every single problem Steve could think of had been fixed for him, and Steve was _still_ lamenting the fact that he just _couldn’t_ …

 

Maybe _that_ was what was fucking inevitable.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of Clint, walking down the drive to meet them. Everything about him was so familiar, down to the way he walked… all but the expression on his face. This Clint didn’t know him. But then, Steve was used to seeing that look on the faces of people he knew.

 

Everyone except Tony. Tony always looked at him like he knew him, always _recognised_ him, however impossible the circumstances….

 

“Captain, an honour to meet you” Clint told him, extending his hand. “Although, apparently you already know me…?” He glanced between Nat and Steve.

“I do.” Steve smiled, following through with the handshake anyway. “Or, a version of you.”

“Well, I’d say I look forward to you explaining all that… but I don’t, really” Clint told him with a shrug, and then offered his hand to Tony.

“Mr Stark.”

“Tony.” He smiled, “Clint, right?”

“Right – and we’ve never met before?”

“Not in my understanding of reality.”

“…I’ll take that.” Clint conceded with a grin, greeting Nat with a simple glance over Tony’s shoulder, in the way of true friends. “So, you should come in… Nick and Maria are already here…” There was a little hint of warning, or maybe humour, in Clint’s voice. Steve smiled. Thinking back to the last few conversations he’d had with Fury, Steve knew exactly what mood he’d be in-

 

Some things _were_ inevitable, as it turned out.

 

*

 

Nick stood up as soon as they walked through to the lounge, and before anyone had even had time to put their bag down, he’d walked straight up to Tony, glared at his chest, and demanded,

“Let’s see it then.”

 

And Steve was well aware that today was going to be a big day for Nick. He, Tony and Nat had agreed not to share too many details with their new team until everyone was together in the same room. Nat may have given Clint a clue, but Steve knew that Nick had no idea what was coming. As such, Steve had no intention of antagonising or deliberately wrong-footing him– as much fun as it had been up until now. As a matter of fact, at least for today, Steve was likely to let Nick get away with almost anything.

 

All but one thing, as it turned out.

 

“ _Again_ , he doesn’t work for you, and walking up to people you don’t know and demanding to see their chest is weird.” Steve informed him, deliberately stepping just in front of Tony as he walked further into the living room. Nick had no choice but to take a little step backwards. And Steve did regret the fact that he had to put Nick in his place, today of all days. All things being equal, he’d have preferred it if Nick just hadn’t said anything to Tony, today. But, as he _had,_ there could be no question of whether Steve was going to say something back. That was a foundational principle of him being here.

 

“Your new boyfriend is the jealous type, huh?” Nick commented casually… as he stood aside and let Tony pass.

“No, he’s right, that was just weird” Tony smiled-

 

And Steve ignored the way his heart seized at that…

The fact that Tony hadn’t corrected it…

 

“You tell me you’ve had that arc reactor _erased_ , and you think it’s weird I want to see?” Nick shot back.

“So say, _I’m really interested in your operation, can I see_.” Steve suggested, still willing himself not to blush. And Nick just gestured toward Steve, impatiently, _fine, that._ And Tony sighed in a conciliatory way and started to unbutton his shirt…

 

_Tony_ had been far more antagonistic towards Nick, the first time. He’d not conceded to anything as quickly as that, Steve was sure…

 

…But then, Steve hadn’t actually been there when Tony _first_ met Nick. He was going from second-hand stories, and guesses… he didn’t _know_ that Tony was behaving differently, now that Steve was behaving differently…

 

But he wondered…

 

And then he became distracted by the sight of Tony’s bare chest – in this instance, in the same way that Nick and Nat were. Even though Steve had already had the chance to marvel at Wakanda’s handiwork … since they were all taking a moment… it _was_ amazing, the difference it had made…

 

“…How?” Nick asked, eventually.

“Magic.” Tony beamed. And Steve saw Nick inhale, saw him set his features in that authoritative way, everything in place to demand more of an explanation than that…

And then he glanced at Steve…

And then there was a little flicker of frustration…

And then he dropped it.

 

Steve felt a little swelling of victory – which would probably have become a much larger swelling of victory, if it weren’t for the circumstances.

 

As it was.

 

“We should probably explain what it is we’re here to talk about” Steve said, kindly.

 

*

 

Steve had left most of the explanation to Nat this time, only stepping in when she looked to him for information she didn’t have. Partly, it was just that he’d been through it so many times by now…

 

Partly, it was that he felt uncomfortable taking too much ownership of this.

 

As with so much of his life, Steve was having to philosophise on the fly. Working out how he felt about things as he was doing them …but, without anything more concrete to go on, Steve could only fall back on the feeling that this wasn’t his world to take over.

 

That this team couldn’t be built around him as the leader, if he had to leave.

 

That he could take responsibility for giving everyone their happily ever after, but not for deciding what it should be.

 

He felt like _Captain America_ , an occupying power in collapsing nation. The whole world might agree that _someone_ should intervene before this potential devastation unfolded…but passing judgement on what came after was an entirely different thing. A different level of intervention…

 

So, for now, Steve stayed mostly quiet. He let Nat comfort Clint, when he had angry questions and disbelieving recollections. He let Tony explain how Bucky, and his parents, fit into the story. He let Nick and Maria ask their own questions, and only stepped in with an answer when no one else could.

 

It took them over two hours to unpack everything. This was the first time any of them had gone through the whole story, start to finish.

 

It was the first time Steve had gotten as far as telling any of them how they _did_ resolve the problem, the first time.

 

“…you put all of SHIELDs files on the internet?” Nick repeated, stunned.

“Yes.”

“… _all_ of them?” Clint confirmed, turning to squint at Nat, _are we sure about this guy?_

“We had half an hour, maximum, before Hydra took over the world, and maybe half a dozen agents we knew we could rely on.” Steve explained, with a sigh. “And…what else could we do? If we hadn’t done _that_ to take SHIELD down, we’d never have taken Hydra down at all. _I_ would’ve been unconscious in a river, Nat would probably have been arrested, or it would’ve taken her days to get people to listen to her… the people responsible would’ve gotten away, they’d’ve taken the files with them, Hydra would’ve just carried on…”

“…So you put _all_ of our files on the internet?” Nick asked again, incredulous.

“You went along with it.” Steve informed him.

“ _I_ never went along with anything-”

“ _Was_ there any sort of security breach, after that?” Maria asked, interested. Steve just raised his eyebrows at her. “We’re all mad because of what you put at risk, so I’m just curious – _did_ any of that information fall into the wrong hands?”

 

And. Well.

 

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, sadly. “One guy…Zemo… spent some time decrypting all of it…”

“And what did he do?” Clint prompted.

“…Brought down The Avengers.” It was a shorthand. But it was true.

“Is that all?” Nick asked, sarcastically.

“Well, _that’s_ why we’re here, isn’t it?” Steve sighed, “Because _this time_ we don’t only have half an hour. So – _does_ anyone have any better ideas?”

 

There was a pause while everyone glanced at one another.

 

“Okay, so…I know I’m the outsider to SHIELD and everything…” Tony began, and waited for everyone to look at him. “But, with most organisations, the most valuable thing is the _information_ , right? That’s what you had to do something with, right there and then?” He looked at Steve for confirmation.

“Right.” Steve smiled.

“So why didn’t you just delete the files?” Tony carried on. “What does SHIELD have on file, exactly?”

“No, that’d be worse” Nick answered for Steve, with a shake of his head.

“You’re talking about decades worth of research, data that is literally keeping people alive.” Maria added. And Steve just gestured between her and Tony, _that, basically._

“So…what if you _had_ had time to back all that up?” Tony went on.

 

And again, everyone paused to look at one another.

 

“You’re talking about _a lot_ of information…” Nick told him, his tone not entirely certain.

“Well, I know I can trust the Stark Industries server – is the _vital_ information really more than we could store on that? _Really_?”

“But won’t Hydra know, if we’re doing that?” Clint queried.

“Not if we do it right.” Tony leant forward, more animated now “If we can collect the vital information as quickly and as subtly as possible, and encrypt it using the latest Stark software – which, by the way, has _got_ to be at least as good as anything Hydra are using-”

“Better.” Steve chipped in, nonchalantly.

“…okay then. So, as I’m not _actually_ connected to SHIELD yet – am I?” Tony looked at Nick.

“…You’re under surveillance-”

“Well, obviously – from the sounds of things, Hydra have everyone ‘under surveillance’ – but my systems are all entirely separate to yours, I _don’t_ work for you, no one there has a _reason_ to demand access to anything…?”

“Well, no” Nick frowned.

“You’re not bugging me, you’ve not got a virus installed in my systems…?”

“…No, we couldn’t work out how to get past the security.” Nick admitted.

“So, okay, we take as long as we need secretly backing up all the important information – _and_ gathering information on the bad guys, for good measure. We find out where Bucky is. And _then_ , when we have everything we need, we can delete all of SHIELDs files. They would cease to exist, in a day – even if someone did get away, they wouldn’t get away _with_ anything. And it’d be harder for anyone to get away, wouldn’t it, if we’d planned for this and they hadn’t…?”

 

“…it’s a lot better than putting all of SHIELDs files on the internet” Nick conceded, after a moment.

“But what happens after?” Nat looked Steve right in the eye when she asked. “Once there _is_ no SHIELD…what is there?”

“The first time… The Avengers operated independently, for a while. And then the international community tried to regulate them… and then it all fell apart.” Again, a shorthand. Still true. “And… It’s not that the regulation pulled everything apart… although it… but the point is, yeah, there was a… void, after SHIELD fell.”

 “…But there _wasn’t_ a SHIELD, when you’re from” Tony mused, looking at Steve “Not when you’re first from, anyway.”

“No, it was just the American government then…”

“You want the American government to take over from SHIELD?” Maria frowned at Tony – clearly she’d seen his senate appearance, a few days earlier.

“God no, that’s not what I meant” Tony scoffed. “I _meant_ … there was nothing, once. And then my dad, and Peggy, and a handful of other people built SHIELD, from nothing. And they did it by building connections, earning the trust of world leaders, appealing to talented people, right?”

“You want to build SHIELD again?” Nat guessed, smiling.

“Why not?” Tony demanded. “If a group of people _can_ build SHIELD, why not us? Hey – you said you know there are other people we can trust, right?” He looked at Steve again.

 

Steve was so busy loving him, he almost missed the question.

 

“Yeah.” He breathed. “A few, at least.”

“Well, if _we_ have all the data, and we have a few people we can trust – couldn’t we start again?” Tony asked. “…and, this Avengers thing… I mean, from the sounds of it, the problem the _first time_ was that there was no one in charge of the Avengers, all of a sudden. But there _isn’t_ an Avengers, yet. Not officially. So, if we take a bit of time to start SHIELD all over again… I mean, there won’t be as many questions in the meantime, will there? We could just… you know… _not_ be the Avengers until there is something else…”

 

Again, Tony seemed taken aback by the fact that everyone was just letting him talk.

 

“Okay…maybe we should all take some time to just _think_ about this, since we have it.” Steve suggested. Everyone exhaled in relief.

“Well, Laura is cooking lunch, so we can break ‘til then, at least…” Clint suggested, rubbing his eyes. Everyone murmured in assent.

 

And then, after a moment.

 

“I take it you’ll all be staying here tonight” He went on, as though he didn’t mind one way or the other “Doesn’t seem like we’re getting everything resolved before dinner.”

“If that’s okay”. Steve said it because someone should.

“Course.” Clint shrugged. “…some of you might have to double up…”

 

And Steve wondered – _what_ was inevitable?

 

Was it written somewhere that, no matter which of the circumstances he changed, he was never allowed to give into his specific temptations in this house?

 

Or, had it always been written that _this_ time Tony would say,

 

“I call Steve’s room.”

And Clint just smirked, _well, yes, I’d guessed that._

 

And, Jesus, Steve would’ve given _anything_ for Tony to have said that the first time…

 

_Why, if the outcome is inevitable anyway?_

 

…But it wasn’t that outcome that was inevitable, was it?

 

It was the other thing.

 

 

And now, for Steve, the present was this.

 

The sky outside was barely dark, the clouds on the horizon streaked with orange and pink, a few birds still singing bravely in the twilight. But even though it was early, everyone else had already gone to bed. They’d spent six hours after lunch dissecting Tony’s plan, writing lists and running through scenarios and looking for problems until their brains hurt. They’d moved from asking whether it was possible to questioning if it was a good idea, right through to working out the finer details… and, yeah, there were still plenty of those to deal with. But, after just one day, there was at least the basic aim, the essential rules, the overall shape of the thing… the fact that it was going to happen at all. The fact that this team existed now, that they’d already spent a day working together. They’d been anxious, and stressed, and determined, and excited - and now, everyone else was tired.

 

Steve wasn’t tired, of course.

 

Steve was sitting on the edge of a double bed, gazing at the view through the window to stop himself from staring at the bathroom door. Waiting for Tony to get out of the shower… and then what? Was Steve _really_ going to climb into bed next to him, Tony’s skin still cool and fresh and smelling of soap… and just fall asleep? As opposed to what?

 

…and, okay, Steve _could_ think of things they might do instead of sleeping… but picturing any of them wouldn’t be helpful, right now.

 

So, instead, he sat and waited to find out what going to happen – maybe what was always going to happen, right from the start. And, of course, the first thing that happened when Tony reappeared was that Steve’s stomach turned to water-

 

_That_ , surely, had been inevitable.

 

“Hey.” Tony grinned, running his eyes over Steve in a way that must have been deliberate. Steve felt his whole body soften.

“Hey.” He whispered back, not quite able to meet Tony’s eye… but he still felt it when the expression on Tony’s face changed. When he dared to look up again, he found a thoughtful aspect… _kind_.

“What’re you thinking?” Tony asked, intrigued.

 

_I’m thinking I want to touch your hair…_

 

But, obviously, Steve couldn’t ask Tony to explain their relationship for him. He couldn’t expect Tony to give him an objective answer on this, it wasn’t fair to make him try. So, instead, Steve went searching for one of the other, lesser issues that had troubled him that afternoon – more to answer Tony’s question, than anything.

 

“I… _worry,_ about changing the future.” Steve admitted, on a downward breath. “I just keep thinking of all the things I _know_ won’t happen now… if they were meant to happen, if it was better that they happened, you know?” He shrugged. “And… it’s the fact that so many of the things that were _meant_ to happen seem so cruel… There’s a girl out there who was going to become one of the most powerful beings in the universe… But the things I’d have to let her go through, so that it did happen like that – the things I’d have to let _other_ people go through…”

 

And as he was talking, he recognised that this had actually been in his head all day, that he’d spent more of the afternoon thinking these things than he’d realised… or, at least, almost thinking them. Just how many moments there had been in which he’d had to wonder about the knock-on effects, and felt that uneasy, naked feeling of being the only one with a certain responsibility. The only one who could _know_ that if SHIELD never experimented on the Tesseract, so many things would change. He’d spent the day looking away from that anxiety, stepping thought it, knowing that these fundamental questions were his alone to bare. That he couldn’t demand everyone stopped what they were doing while he worked that out – because there was no working it out...

 

Except, maybe, if _Tony_ was asking…

 

“Can I let Hydra keep running those experiments, just so we end up with Wanda – would _she_ choose that? Can I let Ultron happen, just so that Vision… Sorry, you don’t know who any of these people are…” Tony just smiled at him, _no – go on._ “… it’s the things I _don’t_ know… What if a world without Wanda and Vision is a world we can’t defend, later? What if it turns out… but how can I say to everyone in Sokovia, I let this happen, because I didn’t know what would happen, if I didn’t? I mean, kids I know were going to be born ten years from now… have I already stopped that happening? Does all this mean its really unlikely that, by then, their parents will conceive them on the exact same day, at the exact same time, that it’d be the same kid? Is that how it works?”

 

…Steve hadn’t expected it to go _there._ Steve was sure he wasn’t even thinking about Morgan, as he finally found the words for that awful question.

 

…But he _had_ been thinking about this. He’d been asking himself that question for days now, or almost asking it – flinching away from asking it, because he didn’t think he’d like the answer.

 

And then he’d just come right out with it. Without any build up, with no warning from himself – just because Tony was there. He’d been doing that a lot, lately.

 

But he’d done it now, so.

 

“You know the fundamental laws of the universe? Science and physics and maths and all that?” Tony began, playfully. And Steve felt his chest relax, just at those few words. Just knowing the _way_ Tony was going to talk to him now.

“I know _of_ them” Steve joked, and Tony grinned at him.

“So, you’d think that _those_ are objective, wouldn’t you? That’s literally the point of them – if _anything_ is objective, it’s the laws of maths, right?”

“…Right?” Steve indulged him.

“So, okay, let’s say I have a bag with a hundred lotto balls – and a box. And, at random, I take one of the balls and put it in the box. And then I ask you – what are the _chances_ it’s number seven, in that box?” And he looked at Steve, expectantly.

“…One in a hundred?” Steve frowned.

“But only from your perspective.” Tony told him, with a flourish. “Because, _I’ve_ already looked in the box. So, if someone asks _me_ , what are the chances the ball is a seven, from _my_ perspective – it’s either a hundred percent, or nothing. I already know it either is, or it isn’t. The laws of probability are literally different – of you get a different answer according to the same laws – for each of us. And, you know, probability is a mathematical law, it’s a _thing_. When you say the chances are one in a hundred, you’re right. That’s a _fact_ , it’s a principle that the entire gambling industry is based on. And yet, to someone else, it isn’t true. It’s all based on perspective…”

 

And Tony frowned at Steve then, _are you sure you don’t want to interrupt me?_

And Steve smiled, _no_.

And Tony inhaled, still frowning, _…okay…_

 

“And, if I were to ask you _before_ I even picked the ball, what are the chances – you’d _still_ say one in a hundred, and that would _still_ be mathematically accurate, but it’d be true in a completely different way to the first time you said it. Because, the second time, it really could be true that any number ends up in the box. The first time, it’s just that you don’t know what number already did…”

“So what if I watch you put that ball in that box, and then I go back in time to before you even pick it-”

“Then, from my point of view, it literally is true that any number could end up in the box, and the chances really _are_ one in a hundred – and, from yours, it isn’t.” Tony replied. Steve huffed out a soft little laugh… and then Tony carried on.

 

“The thing is… when one of us non time travelling plebeians place a bet on that lottery, before the draw, either the odds really _are_ one in a hundred, or we just think they are – but either way, _you_ know they aren’t right? That’s literally not true, to you. Just because _I_ don’t know it’s going to be a seven, doesn’t change what _you_ know to be true?”

“… From my point of view, no.”

“So, from _your_ point of view – just because someone doesn’t _know_ a thing, doesn’t stop that thing being true, yeah?”

“… I don’t know.” Steve sighed. “But, I guess… I guess that theory feels more right to me, yeah. I guess I don’t see how it can really be true that something changes, just because you know about it, or you don’t…”

“So, aren’t I changing the future, and stopping things from happening and making it so that certain kids aren’t born – _just the same as you_?”

“But you don’t…”

 

_You don’t know what was meant to happen…_

But, as he went to say it, Steve got what Tony was asking… and he tried to find the answer…

 

“Should _I_ be wondering about these things?” Tony went on, entirely hypothetically. “If I see a kid drowning, and I save them – have I changed the future any less than if you did the exact same thing, just because you know what would happen if you didn’t…?”

 

And Steve found himself distracted by that, for just a moment… It wasn’t that there was an answer in that. In fact, it was actually that Steve suddenly had _new_ questions. It had been a long time since Steve thought like this and not already known what ideas he was running from. And then he looked up at Tony, amazed.

 

“…What?” Tony frowned.

“I just… we used to talk like this, sometimes, before… philosophy and theoretical physics and all that. And I always liked it, actually. But it was only a few times. It wasn’t like… I’m just wondering, now, whether you were thinking about this stuff all the time.”

“Well, not all the time.” Tony laughed. “I can’t think about anything all the time – too many other things to think about.”

“But more than I ever thought.” Steve smiled at him.

“…I think about this stuff sometimes. It depends.” Tony shrugged.

“On what?”

“What I’m working on, usually – I started thinking about most of this stuff when I was building JARVIS. A lot of things to think about, with that…” But Tony shook that away, and looked right at Steve. “But, honestly? I’m talking about this stuff so much now because I think _you_ like it.”

 

And Steve felt a tender little ache inside him then, an almost childlike urge to ask, _what, really?_

 

That was just…

 

“I do like it.” Steve whispered, his face suddenly warm. “I always liked hearing what you were thinking…”

“Well, right now I’m thinking how much I want to kiss you.” Tony informed him, matter-of-factly – and there was a stab of panic that must’ve been clear on Steve’s face, because Tony just laughed, “What – you think something will be different if I don’t tell you that? You think this … _thing_ won’t be here if I don’t _let you know_ …?”

 

And Tony just looked at him, amused and alive and teasing, beautiful and brilliant – and _right_.

 

Fuck it, Tony was right. Steve didn’t know what he was trying to prove – and to _who_ , for fucks sake.

 

And he really couldn’t think of any possible consequence to kissing Tony that wasn’t as much a consequence of _wanting_ to. How it could possibly be any harder to leave Tony after a summer romance than it would be after a summer of wishing.

 

And – Jesus, he just _wanted_ to. More than wanted to. He was desperate to kiss Tony, _right now_. This place, the moment – _this_ Tony.

 

So Steve _finally_ stood up to pull Tony into him, and this time he had no intention of stopping. He saw Tony’s eyes light up, the briefest flash of elated surprise, _oh, we’re going to? Yay-_

 

And Steve only cared that it was _adorable_. That is was human, and real, and only about this moment. He was smiling as he tried to kiss Tony, his arms caressing roughly across his back as Tony melted closer into him. Steve had all but lifted Tony off of the floor as he stepped into him, pressing him up against the wall with a dull thud. Tony broke the kiss with a delighted giggle, and whispered,

 

_Shhh…!_

 

And Steve loved that. He had no idea why, but that was one of the hottest experiences of his life. When he kissed Tony for that it was more urgently, his whole body held flush against him, his hands sliding their way down to Tony’s hips. Tony moaned sharply as Steve rocked against him, and Steve grinned against his lips.

“You shhh.” He teased, dipping his head to kiss Tony’s neck. And Tony laughed softly, cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Steve slid his hand under the waistband of his sleep pants.

 

Because they had to be quiet.

 

Because this was a stolen moment. This _couldn’t_ exist separately from the circumstances and the place and other people here. This was a night that was happening now, that Steve was really a part of, not just watching or imagining or playing along with.

 

This was that one warm, close night at the beginning of June, when he and Tony had both been just a bit thrown by life, a little bit freer for the unfamiliar setting, completely into one another in exactly the same way. This was the same for both of them. That sweet, strange night when he ended up at a friends house, fooling around in the guest room with Tony Stark. A night when they had to be quiet, and make do with what they had, and be aware of the space they were in. This wasn’t a romantic fantasy, this wasn’t a chance to indulge his regrets and wishes outside of the laws of the world – this was desperately getting each other off in the dark. This was messy, and occasionally clumsy –

 

And, without question, the _best_ it had ever been.  

 


	8. Summer 2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you following the whole fic, this is a slight change in format that I think I'll end up using again - mainly because, without spoilers, this is planned as quite a wide reaching fic... so some periods in time are dealt with in depth, and some, like this, are summarised more broadly - but it does fit in with and progress the plot, is my point...
> 
> Kinda nervous about experimenting with my usual format, can you tell? (all feedback gratefully received, as ever...)
> 
> Anyway, really hope you enjoy

****

 

**The New Avengers: Phase One**

**Initiation**

 

The beginning was easy.

 

Their little team would have a lot of difficult decisions to make in the future, a lot of tricky missions to complete and a lot of contingencies to plan for. At some point they would have to think about who else they were going to trust, and what sort of team they were building, long term. They all knew that the complicated stuff was coming.

 

But, for now, the immediate priority was obvious.

 

There was a lot of SHIELD data in the public domain, for anyone who knew what they were looking for. There was plenty more that could be collected ‘legitimately’ and without arousing suspicion, if they were careful about it. Everyone agreed that it made sense to start with that. So, after a few rough calculations based mostly on guesswork, they’d decided to spend the next twelve weeks gathering and backing up as much vital information as they could, and then see where they were.

 

No one was entirely sure of the timeline, but it seemed natural that they should have one. Everyone seemed to take for granted that, if this was going to be a team, and if this team was going to take on a mission like this, then certain standards had to be in place. Maria asked, quite simply, who was going to be in charge of this thing, just because it was sensible to have a leader and sensible to discuss it. And, this time, Steve, Nat and Tony had had time to think about it in advance. This time, they had made the decision based on the facts of the situation – who knew the most, who had the most connections, who had the best understanding of this team as a whole. So, for the time being, the leader of The Avengers was Natasha.

 

Because, much to Steve’s relief, the name had stuck – at least as a codeword between themselves.

 

For the initial stage, subtlety was the crucial thing. Everyone accepted that Tony had already told Rhodey and Pepper too much about the situation to not explain it now – they already knew that Tony’s parents had been murdered by Hydra, and they already knew that Nat worked for SHIELD, and there was no hope that they’d drop either of those points unless Tony explained what he was really doing about them. If either of them wanted to help, then that would be two extra, very able bodies for the cause – if not, at least they could be trusted not to say a word.  But it was quickly agreed that there was no point recruiting anyone else at this stage, however sure Steve was about them. It just added too much risk at a time when there wasn’t the benefit. So, for the summer at least, it would be just the five (or _maybe_ seven) of them.

 

Luckily, Steve’s outburst in Monaco had been reasonably well contained. The fight with Vanko had happened in a backstage area this time, before he could make it out to the track – and had been over before anyone could panic about the disruption. No one had shown much interest in the unknown intruder who’d assaulted Justin Hammer, and no one had been quick enough to get him on camera. If anyone in the world at large had even noticed Steve, it was as just another attractive blonde at Tony Stark’s birthday party. There had certainly been no mention of Captain America yet, at least not from the general public.

 

And, luckily, Nick had never been one for over reporting – so SHEILD didn’t have much more idea what had happened so far. The Council, used to having too few details from Fury, may’ve been _irritated_ that he’d not bothered to call them since Vanko had been arrested, but they weren’t suspicious. It was a simple fact of Nick’s compartmentalised working style that, even before he knew he was covering anything up, he’d not mentioned that Steve had blown Nat’s cover, or that Nat had been directly involved in detaining Vanko. Never tell anyone more than you have to, and never go into details on a situation you’re unsure of – a policy that Nat also subscribed to. As such, all SHIELD had heard from either Nick or Nat in the last few days was that an unknown threat had been detained at the Monaco Grand Prix, by a possibly enhanced individual with unknown loyalties, and that whoever it was had disappeared with Tony Stark. Nick knew exactly how he was going to twist that – and took great delight in setting it up.

 

At least, the part where he got to call his SHIELD contact, within earshot of Steve, and inform them “Well, it _is_ Steve Rogers – and I regret to inform you that Captain America is a total asshole.”

 

From the day they left the farmhouse, Nick had SHIELD thinking that he and Nat were both working on the ‘Captain America/Tony Stark Situation’. It was all too believable that Tony Stark would have the same attitude to SHIELD as he had toward the US Senate, and that if he _had_ found a way to rescue or resurrect Captain America, he’d refuse to tell anyone how. It was slightly more of a surprise to hear that Steve Rogers had the same attitude… but if _neither_ of them wanted to work with SHIELD… no one _was_ all that sure how to make them. The obvious solution from SHIELDs point of view was actually the perfect cover story for everyone.

 

As far as the world was concerned, Tony would simply be moving in with an unknown blonde guy, as was his way, and Nat would still be working as his PA.

As far as SHIELD was concerned, Captain America had apparently shacked up with Iron Man and was refusing to work with them – so Nat was still undercover gathering information on both of them, and containing their activities as much as possible.

Officially speaking, Nick was still working as Nat’s handler, and Maria and Clint would simply continue their day to day work.

 

And as they were leaving, when all the plans were set, and all the timelines and continencies were laid out, Steve couldn’t help looking at it and thinking…

 

This was how it _could_ have been.

 

If, when the team first came together, there hadn’t already been a Norse God to deal with. If Nick had bothered to explain the vision for The Avengers, or who anyone was, or given any guidance at all beyond ‘turn up, don’t ask questions’. If Steve had just had a bit more time to get used to the future first, if anyone had bothered to tell Tony he’d been unrejected… or, y’know, just stopped rejecting him… if there hadn’t been a fucking Mind Stone in the room.

 

Steve accepted that nothing would erase that regret for him now. Tony was right; time travel could never change what happened the first time, _for Steve_. But, hey, it had made the _next_ thing Steve did so much easier-

 

Including this thing with Tony.

 

And…okay, Steve _knew_ they were supposed to ‘discuss it’. He knew the advice _everyone_ gave, on every type of relationship. He knew that The Avengers was only working better this time because they’d taken the time to talk about it like grown-ups. He did think, a few times, at the beginning… _we’re probably supposed to sit down and discuss what we’re doing…_

 

But, honestly, it _was_ just that it never seemed necessary. Really. For all the things he _knew_ about healthy relationships… this just _felt_ natural, and easy, and obvious, right from the start. It seemed pretty straight forward that Steve wouldn’t be moving into Tony’s room, but he obviously wouldn’t leave before morning, if he ended up there. It was clear to both of them that they wouldn’t be walking down a street holding hands, but Steve always knew he _could_ reach out for Tony’s hand, if he wanted to. Steve never expected Tony to say he loved him, and Tony seemed to have accepted that Steve wasn’t going to stop saying it –

 

And it _was_ fine.

 

Steve already knew the answers to all of the questions he could ask. He knew what they were doing, and what the boundaries were, and the realities of the situation. Getting Tony to confirm all that, or making Tony listen to _him_ confirm it… it just seemed so forced. It felt more like ticking the boxes of a healthy relationship than managing the relationship that was actually in front of him. It really _wasn’t_ that Steve was avoiding the conversation, or scared of what might happen, or unsure of what to say – not this time.

 

This time it was just that, by the time they left the farmhouse, they were already doing it.

 

 

It was early on a balmy Tuesday morning that Steve met Pepper for the ‘first’ time.

 

She was letting herself into Tony’s house, still looking down to put her keys back in her purse, when Steve spotted her. It gave him maybe half a second to register who she was, before she noticed he was there. In that short time, he recognised that he’d been braced for this meeting, that he’d been dreading it – that, thinking about it, he’d actually _avoided_ it, at Tony’s party.

 

And then Pepper _did_ look up at him, her surprise instantly masked with a professional neutrality, and the thought entered Steve’s head,

 

_I wonder if she’s jealous of me._

 

And there was no form of time travel that would unthink that for him. As much as he wished he didn’t, as soon as he saw her, Steve understood…

 

_If it weren’t for me, she would already be his girlfriend._

 

Steve couldn’t stop himself from thinking… does that mean those feelings are all there, already?

Does she feel the same as she would – as she _did_ – when it was her moving in this week…like maybe it _should_ be...?

Had he stolen Tony from her?

 

…Did Tony still feel the same about her as he always had? Was she already the woman he loved – was he sleeping with Steve the same way he’d killed time with all those other people, because he thought he _couldn’t_ be with Pepper… Had Steve just stolen Pepper from _him_?

 

So, it turned out that Steve was still jealous of Pepper.

 

…He really wished he could unthink _that_.

 

“Captain Rogers.” She smiled, in that perfectly courteous, entirely detached way she probably met any of Tony’s one night stands… Steve ignored the way his stomach was crawling, as he stepped forward and attempted a smile in return.

“Ms Potts…um, Pepper…” He began awkwardly, not sure whether he should extend a hand. “Sorry, it’s strange to be introducing myself to you… I know you so well…” Which wasn’t true, really. Even if she had been a part of Steve’s life for fifteen years.

 

Pepper gave a little nod, the smile barely shifting, and still he heard it, _you don’t know me_

 

“Is he here?” She asked, nothing unfriendly in her tone. Steve fought an urge to cross his arms, defensively.

“Oh, uh, yeah – he’s in the workshop.” He murmured, a distinct blush running up his neck as Pepper passed by him.

 

He didn’t exhale until he heard her descend the stairs.

 

And the fact that he _felt_ like ‘the other guy’ was undeniable. That had been, emotionally, the same experience as it would’ve been if Pepper and Tony had _already_ shared that first kiss… when Steve turned up and seduced him so forcibly… And he wasn’t sure that was an unfair comparison, actually. He wasn’t certain what made him different to anyone that pursued another person’s boyfriend, without regard for the relationship they were destroying. He knew the _circumstances_ were different… but him, as a person…

 

He shook that one away. He was trying to deal with things one step at a time at the moment, and for whatever reason, Tony’s relationship with Pepper still felt like part of the long game. Something he knew had ten years to become what it was meant to…

 

Assuming it _was_ meant to…

 

And, really, if Tony and Pepper were _meant_ to be together, if they already loved one another and were destined to weather all storms… then Tony having a fling in 2010 shouldn’t derail them getting married in 2019, now should it…

 

And if it did…

 

… _Then maybe you didn’t steal Tony from Pepper any more than Pepper stole Tony from you…_

He shook that away, too. The truth was, Steve was comfortable in his _own_ relationship with Tony, right now. That wasn’t something he wanted to think himself out of ahead of time.

 

It was too rare and beautiful a thing to waste like that.

 

*

 

It was the hottest night of the year so far. The cool marble floor of Tony’s lounge felt almost exotic under Steve’s bare feet, pleasantly at odds with the soft breeze on his skin. If it got any warmer they’d have to close the windows, and put the aircon on… but, for now, this was nice.

 

Nat was lounging on one of the couches, Tony on the other, each with a tablet computer hanging lazily from one hand. Really, JARVIS did most of the work during these little sessions. He could scan for, select and start downloading all the obvious stuff without much input from anyone – _find all of SHIELDs published research papers_ wasn’t exactly a complex instruction, for him. Steve, Nat and Tony were browsing for the things that JARVIS wouldn’t be able to find – the names that only Nat knew were SHIELD aliases, the references that Steve recognised from the future, the links between seemingly unrelated research projects that only Tony would spot. And even then, JARVIS did most of the leg work. It was JARVIS that was actually backing up all these terabytes of data; really, The Avengers were just lazing around and chatting.

 

“Is the head of SHIELDs Engineering Outreach Programme actually called Mike Tyson?” Tony enquired, as Steve flopped down in the seat beside him.

“Not anymore” Nat grinned “But yeah, it used to be a guy called Mike Tyson – and he was, by the way, as unlike Mike Tyson as it is possible to be.”

“Less like Mike Tyson than… Justin Hammer?” Tony asked, playfully, just for the sake of something to say. A meaningless conversational game, amongst friends.

“I’m going to say yes.”

“Really?”

“He was about as much like Mike Tyson as… Steve is like Martha Stewart” She offered, with a shrug – and both Tony and Steve burst out laughing.

“ _Martha Stewart?”_ Steve repeated, still giggling “Where did _that_ come from?” And Nat shrugged again, smiling now. “That’s such a… _random_ comparison…”

“So _,_ wait, is Justin Hammer more unlike _the_ Mike Tyson than Steve is unlike Martha Stewart?” Tony grinned, “What is the scale here?”

 

And thus began a very long and increasingly silly game of meaningless comparisons – Was Phil Coulson more like Katy Perry than Nick Fury was, was Maria more like Tom Hanks than Clint was like Matt Damon, was Tony more like Chris Rock or Lucy Lui… A game where the objective was coming up with the most ridiculous comparison, or the most ludicrous rationale. And, if there _was_ a winner, it could only be Tony, for the legendary observation ‘ _I dunno, I can sort of imagine Coulson kissing a girl, and saying he liked it… I assume Nick would just shoot her?’_

 

And while Steve was laughing at Nat laughing at Tony, he realised… Even if they _had_ had this conversation in those first few weeks, the first time the Avengers came together…

 

Steve wouldn’t have had any idea who any of these people were.

 

*

Steve couldn’t sleep.

 

Things with Tony were already feeling completely normal, and easy, and right.

Things with The Avengers were already as good as they’d ever been.

Things he’d been indefinably _worried_ about just didn’t trouble him in the same way; he didn’t have that creeping feeling that everything was a dream anymore, or the unclean feeling of disloyalty. There were even times that he forgot there was anything strange about the way he was living, times he was just eating dinner or talking to Tony or working on the mission.

 

But, unfortunately, that wasn’t quite everything.

 

The news channel was rolling silently in the lounge, and for as long as it wasn’t covering the events in New Mexico, or the events in New York, Steve was staring right through it. Neither story had received much coverage, which Steve assumed was thanks to SHIELD. It didn’t matter. He already knew… it’d all happened.

 

Steve knew that Bruce was already in the wind, now. He knew that Thor had already gone back to Asguard. And the funny thing was, he’d spent the last few days feeling increasingly anxious that those things _wouldn’t_ happen, that he’d already caused some ripple in this reality that would stop everything happening as it ‘should’… But, since Fury had confirmed both events…

 

Had Steve just _let_ a town in New Mexico get totalled? Had he just allowed the Bifröst to be destroyed and…well, this was the problem; he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he’d just let happen on Asguard, because Thor had never told him the strategic details. Why would he? And Bruce had never explained the process he went through between Harlem in 2010 and the control he had over his power in the Battle of New York… If Steve _had_ stepped in to prevent that from happening, would he have ruined Bruce’s recovery?

…Or made his life much better… Had he just _robbed_ Bruce of some opportunity that Steve wouldn’t even understand-

 

“Hey.” Tony spoke warmly, pulling Steve out of his own head. Steve glanced up to see Tony strolling over to the kitchen, his T-Shirt smeared in grease, his whole affect suggesting it was the middle of the working day – rather than nearly two in the morning. He paused when he saw the expression on Steve’s face. “You okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just… thinking.” Steve answered, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Tony looked at him for a moment, and then abandoned his trip to the fridge in favour of joining Steve on the couch.  

“Give me your problems, I will make you a philosophy.” He grinned, and Steve all but swooned in relief – just at the feeling of having some company, initially.

“Oh, just…worrying about changing the future, again.” He sighed.

“Hm. What’re you worried you’ve changed?”

“Oh, no, this time I’m worried because I didn’t change anything” Steve told him in a self-aware tone, and Tony huffed out a little laugh.

“I suspect this is what where the answer is going to be – but go on.”

“I know… I do think, maybe there _isn’t_ a right answer, to anything…” He looked at Tony, waiting for him to say that there wasn’t only one right answer, like he usually did. By Tony just continued watching him, patiently, so Steve went on. “…I knew Harlem was going to happen. And New Mexico. I… know the people they happened to.”

“So why did you let that happen?” Tony asked, without any judgement.

“…I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you” Tony smiled “There is no way you didn’t over think this decision a hundred thousand times, like you do everything in life – there must be something you were more scared would happen if you helped than if you didn’t.”

“I think… the thing is, I just didn’t know enough, about these. I knew they happened – and I knew that two people I cared about came out of them…better… or, that they both talked about them, like…”

“Like what a bastard you’d feel if you just let me get kidnapped in Afghanistan, but you know you only did it because it was the making of me, and you never _would_ have done it unless you knew for a fact that I survived and recovered?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Steve exclaimed, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically “Yes – because then I’m thinking, well, how do I _know_ you wouldn't have done even more with your life if that hadn’t happened to you, or what if _you_ wished it never happened, if you didn’t think it was worth it – how could I choose that for you?”

“But you can’t not choose for me, because in your position, everything is choosing.” Tony added

“Exactly.” Steve agreed – _already_ feeling better. “And, I don’t even know what I’m feeling bad about, because I don’t know _what_ I stopped from happening. And it’s just the fact that… I _am_ changing things. So, now I’m having to think why change one thing and not…” He looked at Tony, _that’s all I’ve got._

 

“Would it be better if I _stopped_ this one being a philosophy, instead?” Tony suggested, and Steve raised his eyebrows at him, _come again_? “I mean… you’re talking like this is a grand, existential question, what is your, like, _spiritual_ responsibility as a time traveller… would it help if I pointed out that this one is just a regular old human problem…?”

“…Enormously.” Steve realised out loud.

“So, you’re an Avenger, right? And that means you know more about what’s going on in the world, for all sorts of reasons, and that means you’ve got more chance of changing things, ‘cos you’re a super hero and all. And that means you’re always going to have this stress in life – what do you do with the information you have, and how do you change things for the best. And that will be a headache every time and every time it’ll be different. Like, you’ve found out SHIELD is evil, and you know that’ll eventually hurt a lot of people – ‘cos you’re a time traveller or ‘cos you’re physic or ‘cos you’re just a genius like me, doesn’t matter, point is, you know it now. You _don’t_ know what’ll happen when you try to change things… so you weigh it all up and you make a choice, and hope for the best. You did the same with Harlem, and New Mexico apparently… and the situation was different, and you didn’t know as much and you made a different choice. But here’s the thing” He leant forward, “ _None_ of that is actually an answer to that problem yet. That is just me saying – it’s not you being a time traveller. Not _everything_ is you being a time traveller. That’s just you being a hero, and a _person_ , and the fact that life is fucking hard and confusing and stressful sometimes… I don’t suppose that helps yet…”

 

But _of course_ that helped. God, that helped…

 

“And, actually, I don’t know that the next bit will help, really… but hey, it helped me. So. Do you want to hear something that changed my life?” Tony asked, seriously. Steve just nodded. “And, disclaimer, I heard this from a student in a nightclub in London who was obviously very high on something… but, still, true wisdom. You ready?”

“I think so.” Steve’s smile was real this time.

“You’re not _supposed_ to be happy all the time, and you’re not _supposed_ to feel good about every right decision.” Tony announced, dramatically. Steve really wanted to be enlightened by that the way Tony apparently had been, but…

“…You’re not supposed to feel good about the right decision?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get it at first either – but luckily, she basically pinned me in a corner and talked about it at high speed for half an hour, and then I worked out that she’d actually discovered the meaning of life. Her name was Adebisi, I’ll never forget her. Turned out, the day before, her mother had decided to finally turn her brothers’ life support machine off, ‘cos he’d had a bike accident the week before – that’s why she was getting so wasted, I think. But she said her mother kept saying that she was sure she’d made the wrong decisions, _because_ she felt so bad about it – and Ade’s truly enlightened take was, _I think she feels bad because her son just died, and even if she’d made the perfect decision, she’d still feel shit right now – and she’s supposed to. _Because, the way Ade saw it, life is complicated, and sometimes healthy, generally happy lives will have sadness in them, and feeling bad about the shit that happens is actually a normal response. _And_ she even went on to say that it probably _wasn’t_ the perfect choice, and that most decisions don’t _have_ a perfect choice, so it’s perfectly normal to have some doubts and some regrets about the right decision. The right decision isn’t _supposed_ to feel good – it _might_ , but it’s not actually a criteria. It’s not actually relevant. Sometimes the right decision will feel like shit, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the rightness of it. Sometimes things are just… shit. But that’s okay, because winning at life doesn’t mean always being happy. Even a winning life will have shit sometimes… _Then_ I realised, that actually this girl was at one with God.” And he smirked at his own overstatement, and took a little breath. “My _point_ is… when you say _you can’t win_ … maybe it’s because you assume that the winning answer will be the one you feel happy about. And maybe, actually, one of these solutions you feel shit about _is_ the right one, and it’s perfectly normal you’d feel shit about it anyway.”

 

“…you’re right.” Steve exhaled, when the words had finished hitting him “…That might’ve changed my life…”

“I know, right?” Tony beamed. “I mean… trying to actually remember that when everything feels like shit is a whole other thing, I know… but it helps, yeah?”

“…Yeah.” Steve nodded. Because that really, really did…

“You’d think I’d get a blow job for that, at least.” Tony delivered entirely straight, with just a little shrug of his shoulders. Steve grinned.

“At _least_ ” He agreed, and pulled Tony into his lap.

 

*

 

Steve had just come back from a morning run, his muscle’s pleasantly numb from the exertion, his head full of comfortingly trivial daydreams-

 

And, oh, there was Rhodey.

 

He’d been standing in Tony’s kitchen, his body relaxed against the counter – until he saw Steve. And that face was so familiar, and Steve had been so far from focused thought, that it wasn’t until he saw Rhodey stand to attention that he remembered-

 

This Rhodey had never met him.

 

Immediately after which, Steve realised that he had _no_ idea what this Rhodey thought of him. He didn’t know how much Rhodey knew about him, or what impression he had of Steve’s relationship with Tony, or if-

 

“Captain Rogers.” Rhodey stepped forward as he spoke … _Oh, he can walk..._ “I’ve heard a lot about you.” And he extended his hand. Steve felt a warm wave of elation as he took it.

“Steve, really.” He assured him, his voice barely above a whisper. He was worried that if he spoke any louder, it would crack. “I know you.”

“Yeah, Tony said...” Rhodey commented, with a quirk of his eyebrow. Steve breathed out a little laugh.

“Yeah, I know it’s a lot…” Steve began, thinking he’d try and find a way to explain it – But Rhodey spoke first.

 

“You, uh… you saved his life though, right? You’re the reason he doesn’t have that thing in his chest anymore?”

“Well, I took him to the people who actually took the thing out of his chest…” Steve clarified, modestly. But Rhodey just smiled at him, and offered the subtlest little shrug, _well, that’s good enough then…_

 

And Steve was sure Rhodey must have _some_ concerns about this stranger who had swooped in and turned Tony’s life upside down. He probably _was_ wondering what Steve’s intentions were, and maybe he was even thinking _…if you end up hurting him…_

 

But he wasn’t going to say it.

 

Whatever individual doubts and questions Rhodey might’ve had, overall, he’d clearly decided to support Tony in this, and to be happy for him, at least for now. Steve realised, he’d never been quite close enough to Tony to really understand how close he was to Rhodey. He’d never got to see the way they interacted, to witness the little things that were at the foundation of that bond. But he saw it now. He saw that Rhodey hadn’t made that gesture lightly. Rhodey had taken an interest in this development, and thought about it, and he’d done that based on a real understanding of Tony, and a pure desire to do what was best for him-

 

And, on the basis of that, he was apparently prepared to give Steve a go.

 

The rush of joy that Steve felt at that stayed with him for days

 

*

 

Steve and Tony were maybe half a mile from home when, with no warning what-so-ever, the clouds just _opened_.

 

Steve would always remember Tony’s shocked intake of breath, the sweetness in the tone of it. The way he looked up at Steve, his eyelashes glittering and his lips parted, his shirt already clinging to him-

 

And he took Steve’s hand, and they _ran._

 

And for those few minutes the world felt so raw. The sting of the downpour hitting his shoulders, the sharpness of the breeze on wet skin, the fresh smell of rainwater… everything felt so immediate, so natural, so _real._ Steve’s vision blurred, until everything became a confusion of fragmented lights, and still he kept running – because Tony’s hand was right there, and Tony would get them home.

 

By the time they fell, panting, through the front door, their clothes were soaked right through. Steve’s heart was pounding, more from the excitement of the moment than the exertion of the run. Within a few seconds the warm air in the house had made Steve’s skin itch, his wet clothes hanging heavy and oppressive on him all of a sudden… he didn’t stop to think before he peeled his shirt away, he didn’t stop to question the intense relief of being free of it-

 

And then he looked up, and there was Tony. Looking at him.

 

_Oh…_

 

It had been Steve’s dearest wish, to have Tony look at him like that. He’d wasted so many lonely, frustrated nights, just trying to imagine Tony wanting him as much or as openly as that…

 

God, he’d never come close.

 

It was just the most beautiful, _exciting_ thing that Steve had ever seen… He was instantly very aware of his own body, like a fine layer of his skin had been seared away. Everything about him was sensitive. He was already hard, his mouth literally watering at the thought of kissing Tony’s neck…

 

And then Tony was just _there_ , a sudden desperation of grasping and kissing, a hint of a whimper in his voice. Steve felt his knees weaken, and had to take a little step back to right them both, throwing his arms around Tony’s waist… He felt the heavy material of Tony’s shirt under his hands. He remembered how good it felt to take his own shirt off, he wanted Tony to feel good… And oh, the soft little moan from Tony when Steve stripped it from him.

 

“Better, baby?” Steve whispered, pulling Tony back into him, his damp skin warm and tacky against his chest. And Tony didn’t answer – at least not in words. But, somehow, in a disjointed series of clumsy steps and urgent tugging, he managed to manoeuvre them both into his bedroom in record time. He pushed Steve down onto the bed, and the dry sheets felt so good against Steve’s back… He barely had time to look up before Tony was stripping him out of his jeans.

 

“Jesus, you are _beautiful_ ” Tony breathed, when he finally got to climbing on top of him. “You’re _perfect_ , just… _impossible_ -”

 

These were usually Steve’s lines.

 

Tony was anything but shy in bed. He swore, and he pleaded, and he shouted encouragements and instructions and – _occasionally –_ endearments… But he’d never really said anything _personal_ before, nothing that he couldn’t have said to any partner, in any encounter. He’d certainly never said anything like _that_.

 

And if Steve had been capable of rational thought right then, one of two things would have happened. Either, it would’ve meant he appreciated the importance of the moment more, that he didn’t completely miss the emotional significance of Tony saying things he’d so desperately longed to hear. _Or_ , he would’ve been thrown by the importance of the moment, and been so consumed by all the things it might’ve meant that he actually stopped it from happening.

 

But, as he _wasn’t_ capable of ration thought, it was very simply the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. That’s all.

 

 

Nick had decided to really run with the story that Steve was a total ass.

 

There _were_ good reasons for that. If they could convince SHIELD that Steve’s previous reputation was all marketing, that Captain America had always been more interested in partying and casual sex than helping his fellow man, it made Steve seem like far less of a threat. At the very least, it misrepresented the threat – and it’s always good to misinform an enemy, whatever else is going on. And, of course, it shored up their cover story. It helped convince SHIELD that he was the sort of character an undercover agent should be monitoring, gave Nick _some_ answer when his superiors got frustrated and asked, _but what are they actually doing?_

 

And Nick took a particular joy in inventing answers to that, especially when he got to do it in front of Steve. There was a look of satisfaction he got, when he could fix Steve with a direct stare as he told whoever was on the phone _all he is doing is being a self-indulgent prick. _

 

Although, actually, Steve was quite enjoying this little game too.

 

He probably wouldn’t have, if it weren’t so openly and deliberately false. If the only people he knew in this universe didn’t already know that it was all made up… Maybe he’d have been a little bit uncomfortable, if Nat or Tony had really believed that Steve was a spoilt, arrogant party boy. If he’d even thought that Nick meant it, rather than just running with the joke.

 

But the idea that everyone in SHIELD thought all that… was strangely liberating, actually.

 

When he first came out of the ice, Steve had clung to the image of Captain America like a life vest in a stormy sea. At a time when he didn’t know how he felt, or what he thought about anything, or what anything in the world meant, the apparently timeless, entirely uncomplicated morality of Captain America was all he could be sure of. The only thing that didn’t seem to change, the only way he had to relate to anyone. He still knew what ‘Captain America’ meant, and _they_ all knew what it meant – and no one knew fuck all else about him, and he had no way of tell them. So. Captain America it was. At first, it was a comfort to be able to think _what would Captain America do_. It was a relief, to be able to give a speech he could believe in, to sell an idea he was confident of. And then, as Steve began to outgrow the simplicity of that comic book hero, it started to feel like a chore. It became harder and harder to cram the real world – and what he really thought about it – into those boxes. And, finally, when Steve _wanted_ to break out of that image, when he’d maybe found his place in the world enough to be something more than that, then it felt like a noose. One he’d tied himself, so he couldn’t even complain. He had spent ten years _telling_ people that this was who he was and how he felt, all of his relationships were built of that, there was just no way to separate himself from it. By then, Steve _hated_ the icon of Captain America; he’d ended up wishing he could beat a fictional character to death with his bare fists.

 

Listening to Nick tell SHIELD, “ _No, neither of them are up yet…according to Romanov they were both too drug fucked to do anything after that…”_ felt like doing literally that.

 

*****

 

Steve saw it the moment it walked through to the lounge. A square parcel, wrapped in red paper and a bright blue bow, just sitting on the coffee table.

 

He wasn’t sure what to feel.

 

He knew he _should_ be concerned by this development. As thoughtful and generous as Tony was, birthdays had never been his strong suit. He was always giving people gifts, he but was never organised enough to get them for an actual occasion. Tony had almost certainly always _known_ Steve’s birthday, if only because of the symbolism – but Tony was only ever loosely aware of what day it was at the best of times. Much less what day it would be soon, if he wanted to plan something for it… Tony had got _Pepper_ to buy her own gift, until she was actually his live-in girlfriend.

 

So… Steve should probably be concerned by this. He should probably be thinking that this wasn’t quite in keeping with the implicit rules of their casual relationship, that it was a bigger gesture than Tony _should_ be making…

 

Steve probably _shouldn’t_ be feeling a little prickle of joy, that Tony had remembered.

 

He _certainly_ shouldn’t feel smug at the thought that he might be special to Tony – that would be _bad_ …

 

Nervously, he stepped over and picked up the package. No note. Just his name, written with a sharpie on the paper itself. He took a little breath as he slid his fingers under the ribbon, and unwrapped the gift…

 

A copy of _Entertaining,_ by Martha Stewart.

 

A giggle bubbled over Steve’s lips before he’d finished tearing the paper off. He’d forgotten about that… He flicked the book open automatically – and the giggle bloomed into a full out belly laugh when he saw how it was signed.

 

_Dear Not-Martha-Stewart,_

_You’ll get there eventually,_

_Martha Stewart._

 

Looking at it, Steve wasn’t sure whether to call this a very silly, entirely unromantic gesture, or if he was genuinely touched that Tony had got him something so personal…

 

And wasn’t that just _perfect_?

 

*

 

God, it was hot.

 

The whole of California was baking under a thick blanket of humidity, waiting increasingly desperately for a storm that must _surely_ be coming… The general discomfort had apparently rubbed off on Nick, Maria and Clint before they got to Tony’s. The journey from LAX had been longer and more oppressive than usual, and they’d all arrived sweaty, and tired, and irritable.

 

But then, as the clean air of Tony’s perfectly air-conditioned home hit them, and the quiet of the house washed the general chaos of the city away, everyone began to un-bunch. The relief of it turned their irascibility into a sort of elation, left everyone feeling softer and a little bit silly.

 

Nick’s update on his latest activities was delivered with his head lolling back on the couch, peppered with swearwords and jokes at his superiors’ expense. Everyone lounged heavily on the furniture around him, sharing the same easy laughter. Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, Nick reached the conclusion,

“So… I guess we should start planning what data we’re collecting next…” And everyone groaned, because no one wanted to start working yet.

“ _Or_ , we could all spend the afternoon drinking _very_ cold drinks, and do that tomorrow…” Tony suggested, and both Clint and Maria made a general murmur of assent.

“Ooh, Mojitos” Nat suggested, still gazing at the ceiling.

“Or Daiquiris…” Steve added, mindlessly, thinking only that Daiquiris would be colder…

 

Nick snorted, unimpressed, and Steve glanced up at him, _what?_

 

“Daiquiris are a tourist drink” He commented, his voice thick with amusement. Steve just smirked.

“Daiquiris are one of the official drinks of The Avengers” Steve decided, without really thinking about it. He was sure that they _had_ made Daiquiris, amongst other things, at the few parties they got to have before it all turned to shit… but, mainly, he was just looking for something to say. Just making a mindless joke, like people did.

“Who died and made you God?” Nick asked, in the same unthinking way-

 

And, in complete unison, both Tony and Clint answered-

“Hitler”

 

And then they both looked up from their prone positions, shared a look of victory – and then Tony sat up so that Clint could high five him. And Nat laughed, and Steve got to open his arms in mock acceptance of the accolade, and Nick just grinned, _yeah, okay, that was a good one._

 

“Fine.” Nick sighed, still smiling. “As long as they’re _frozen_ Daiquiris.”

 

*

 

The storm didn’t arrive for three more days.

 

By that time the air was unbearably close, almost charged – and so were Steve and Tony. Whether it was the intensity of the weather, or just the mood they were both in, or maybe Tony really _did_ look especially gorgeous recently… They’d been desperate to touch one another, all day.

 

Alas, when Tony woke up, his whole body already tight and breathless, he’d had to get ready for an early board of directors meeting. They had five minutes, pressed passionately against the kitchen wall, before Tony’s car turned up. Which, obviously, left them both feeling hungry and aching for the rest of the morning. _Then_ Tony had a conference call, which he’d foolishly decided to take at home – and he spent the whole of it gazing lusciously at Steve. By the time he hung up, two hours later, Steve was digging his nails into the couch cushions, he _needed_ Tony so much-

 

And then JARVIS delivered the news that The Pentagon had been on hold for an hour, and Steve literally moaned in frustration.

 

And it did occur to Steve… there was a time that he wasn’t allowed to touch Tony _at all_. He knew that, but it seemed unthinkable now – Steve honestly thought, if he didn’t get to kiss Tony soon, he might literally _die._

And when, _at last_ , Tony was done with business for the day, there was actually a rumble of thunder – like the whole world was letting go of that tension at that moment. Lightning struck as Steve threw him down on the couch, the everything flashing into brilliant, white light as he _finally_ got to press his mouth against Tony’s-

 

“Jesus, _please-_ ” Tony begged – and, God, Steve _loved_ it when Tony begged like that-

“Anything.” Steve promised, mindlessly, stripping Tony roughly out of his clothes. “I want you, God I want you-”

“Christ – _Steve_!”

 

Tony didn’t use Steve’s name like that. He yelled out to God, and Jesus, he swore and he moaned and he pleaded generally… but that might have been the first time he’d actually called out Steve’s name, in the heat of the moment.

 

Steve was too far gone to be anything other than _incredibly_ aroused by that. If he weren’t already busy kissing his way along the inside of Tony’s thighs, he would actually have asked him, _say it again._ Instead of which, he immediately committed to _making_ Tony say it again, taking his cock as far down his throat as he could, trying to _earn_ it. Tony just moaned helplessly, something between a whine and a yell, as he arched up to meet Steve’s mouth. So Steve dug his fingertips into Tony’s hips, because he knew Tony liked that, rocking Tony into him, taking him faster and faster until he heard something in Tony break,

“Oh, please Steve, _please-_ oh, oh God, Steve, _Steve-_ ”

 

Steve grabbed him hard enough to leave bruises, moaning as loud as Tony was, as Tony came in his mouth.

 

*

 

It was during another lazy afternoon of information filtering that Nat casually informed Steve,

“Nick told Pierce that Tony bought you a kilo of uncut cocaine for your birthday”

 

Both Steve and Tony burst out laughing at that. Tony, because he thought the lie was so comically over the top, and Steve, because he was thinking about what Tony had _actually_ bought him. A comparison Nat also found amusing.

 

“It was signed to me, _by name_ ” Steve finished, and Tony snorted another laugh behind him

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten I’d asked her to write that…”

“When _did_ you bump into Martha Stewart, by the way?” Steve enquired at last. He’d been thinking that question for three weeks, but this was the first time he’d managed it when Tony was actually there.

“Illuminati meeting.” Tony informed him, completely seriously.

“Oh, right.” Steve smiled. And then Tony grinned, and confessed,

“I don’t remember actually – some fundraiser.”

 

“How old _are_ you?” Nat asked unthinkingly. It was clearly just the next stop for a train of thought that had started with Steve’s birthday, a question she only asked because it had popped into her head.

 

It was Steve that had to think about it.

 

“Uh…” Steve tried to remember how old he’d worked out he _was_ , before he left his timeline… but both Tony and Nat had glanced over, faintly amused, when they realised that he didn’t immediately know. But that this never been a simple question for Steve – at least, not for a very long time. “So, I was nearly 27 when I went into the ice…and then, I was in the twenty-first century for eleven years, and then I have no idea how long I was time travelling for before here, but it can’t be _years_ …”

 

…Could it?

 

No. No…. _a_ year, maybe-

 

“So you’re about my age?” Tony summarised for him, casually. Nat gave a little shrug, _yeah_ , _that’ll do…_ Because, of course, that wasn’t an especially meaningful comparison for either of _them_.

 

But it struck something in Steve.

 

It was the first time he’d realised that, in this moment of time that he’d picked at random… he _was_ about the same age as Tony.

 

…It was the first time he’d realised, in words, that he hadn’t been the same age as Tony, before.

 

He wondered if that meant anything…

 

Well… Steve liked that he was the same age as Tony now. It meant that, at least.

It was Sunday morning, and the sun was just coming up as Steve made his way down to Tony’s workshop. He carried two cups of coffee; one he’d made for himself, when he first woke up, and one he’d made for Tony, knowing that he wouldn’t have gone to bed yet.

 

“Hey.” Tony smiled; his eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him as Steve approached. “Sorry, I know, I should be in bed…” He appeased, on autopilot.

“Why, are you on a curfew?” Steve teased, warmly –

 

And Tony’s head snapped upright, his forehead creased in confusion. And then he blinked, and Steve could see him trying to work out what had just happened. Realising that he couldn’t use any of the responses he’d memorised for when someone interrupted him at this point in a work session.

 

_…well, that’s what everyone usually says…_

 

Obviously, Tony had simply accepted that reaction. And, in fairness, that probably _was_ what Steve would’ve said, the first time around. It _would_ have seemed irresponsible, negligent even, to simply allow Tony to carry on with this self-destructive behaviour…

 

Steve couldn’t say what had changed, exactly.

 

Maybe it was just that missing a night’s sleep didn’t seem all that reckless, after all the risks he’d watched people take, over the years. Maybe it was that Steve had given so much thought to what he could decide for other people, since he arrived. This sudden power he had to change everything made Steve think about what it _wasn’t_ his business to change, when it wasn’t his place to help – a concern that had _never_ troubled him, when he was Captain America… Or, maybe it was all this time thinking about whether any of his interventions had ever meant anything, anyway…

 

But, somehow, the idea of ordering Tony to get some sleep seemed… bossy. Demeaning, and controlling, and a ridiculous exaggeration of the actual harm being done…

 

A perspective that had obviously never occurred to Tony.

 

“Just for the record.” Steve carried on, affectionately, when Tony didn’t manage to find an answer “There is only one reason I’m ever going to be trying to talk you into bed…”

“Yeah?” Tony raised his eyebrows suggestively – although his voice was still a little breathless. Steve grinned, and took a step closer.

“Well, obviously not when you’re _working_ …” He mocked gently, his eyes falling on Tony’s lips.

 

Tony turned all of his screens off with a single flick of his hand.

 

“I’m not.” He told Steve simply, as he closed the gap between them and kissed him hard.

*

 

Steve and Tony had drifted into talking about _things like time travel_ again by the beginning of mid-August.

 

And Steve thought of very much it as ‘things like time travel’, rather than talking about time travel per se. When he first sought Tony out in Monaco – what seemed like _such_ a long time ago, now – Steve had been looking for a conversation on time travel, specifically. He’d been looking for answers to particular questions, he’d been there because of a need in him. Now, when he and Tony ended up talking about time travel, it was simply because they were discussing theoretical things anyway, and it ended up there. Because they did that now. While they were scrolling though data files, or lying together in bed, or walking back to the house, sometimes they’d talk about philosophy, or ethics, or abstract science. And sometimes it ended up with time travel, and sometimes it ended up with religion, and it all sort of felt the same when they were talking like that.

 

And Tony was right, Steve did like it.

 

That night, the conversation started with a cat that’d strolled across Tony’s balcony. A playful dispute into whether it was blue or grey quickly became something more existential.

“Really, if you think about it…all objective measurements could be subjective, and it wouldn’t matter as long as they were subjective in the same way…” Tony mused, tracing a finger over Steve’s chest. They had been lying on Tony’s bed for an hour, sporadically saying they really _were_ going to get up and have a shower in a minute, and making no effort what-so-ever to move. “Actually, you could be seeing a completely different colour when I say blue. Like, you could literally see blue as I see grey, or red… but it doesn’t matter if blue is something completely different to you as it is to me, so long as you always see the same colour as blue… The point of those objective terms is really communication, what I’m really saying is _that thing we both call blue_ , so that we can _communicate…_ ”

“But that’s only true of…objectively subjective things…” Steve began, and then laughed at how it sounded “Oh, what have you done to me?”

“No, go on, you know what you mean.”

“I’m not sure I do…” Steve smiled, but he tried anyway “I mean… colour doesn’t _have_ a value outside of our perception of it… but I can’t have a different concept of seven to you, even if it’s always the same concept of seven – eventually we’d work out that our sums didn’t add up.”

“Yeah, but we’d make it so they did, that’s the point of sums. And that means the rules of physics could all be wrong, as long as they were consistently and coherently wrong, because then they would look right to us… like how all the science proved that the earth was flat, because all the laws of science were based on the idea that the earth was flat…”

“So can you _prove_ something right, even if it isn’t…” Steve thought out loud.

“If you start with the assumption that those things are right, and go from there, yeah.” Tony answered… but that thoughtful look had come into his eyes, so Steve waited.

 

_He has just this most beautifully expressive face…_

“So, let’s say you’re walking on a travellator, and it is going three miles an hour in one direction, and you are walking three miles an hour in the other. Actually, you’re in perpetual motion – but, to anyone that can only see your head, you’re a fixed point. From their experience, you are always in the same place – so they take that as _proof_ that you don’t move. _Look, he doesn’t move, you see it too, proof_. Repeat it, record it, that’s science. More than that, they actually use you as a basis for thousands of other calculations – they work out the time of day based on where the shadow falls on you, because you are a fixed point. And, for as long as you stay moving at the same speed, and so does the travellator, and for as long as they never see the travellator – they are actually right. Their scientific rules continue to prove each other. And if someone wanted to give you directions, they _could_ say, three miles north of the floating head, because that _would_ be where they were. That is _also_ proof you don’t move, because according to all their physics – according to all the other provably fixed points they could measure you from…” But he trailed off as he felt Steve laughing softly beneath him. And then Tony grinned “And, yeah, I wish I’d started that with a different visual-”

 

And then Steve burst out into real laughter, and Tony joined in, sort of trying to add, _rather than a society that worship your floating head…_ and giving up in the middle. In the end, they laughed for a good five minutes at that.

 

And they never did make it to the shower.

 

*

 

Steve walked into the living room, where Tony and Rhodey were clearly already in the middle of an animated, but friendly, discussion. As soon as Tony saw Steve, his eyes lit up in theatrical delight, and he exclaimed, dramatically.

“Steve, Rhodey is bullying me.” And even added an adorable little pout for good measure. Rhodey rolled his eyes at Tony, and glanced back at Steve, _hey man_ – clearly trying to supress a smile a Tony’s little performance. Steve didn’t bother.

“That doesn’t sound like him.” Steve commented, in the same playful tone they were using-

 

But he walked over to Tony anyway, standing behind him and looping his arms lazily around Tony’s waist. Even though he _knew_ Tony was joking, even though Steve was making the gesture as part of a game – he was always going to make it. _I am always on your side, even in the mock arguments._ Steve didn’t even think about it anymore. And, apparently, neither did Tony. At least, he didn’t react at all beyond putting a hand on Steve’s arm, and smiling.

 

“Why, is he calling you names?” Steve carried on teasing, as Tony ran his thumb over his forearm, absently.

“No, he’s trying to _make_ me go to a fund raiser tonight, and I don’t want to.”

“He doesn’t even not want to go” Rhodey corrected dryly.

“I _do_ doesn’t even not want to go.” Tony asserted. “It was criminally mis-sold to me, and I think that means I can back out of it.”

“Why, what did you _think_ it was…?” Steve asked.

“It _is_ a fundraiser for childhood leukaemia – he’s sulking because it turns out he actually has to talk to grownups.”

“I was told I was going to meet kids at a hospital, and now it turns out I’m going to meet _board directors_.” Tony clarified, screwing his face up. “ _Do I have to go Steve_?” Steve laughed, affectionately.

“No, you don’t have to go.” He appeased, and Tony poked his tongue out at Rhodey. Rhodey exhaled wearily, _do you have to encourage him?_ But before he could say anything, Steve continued, “You don’t have to do any of the wonderful things you do. No one thinks they _have_ to go to a charity event, ever, no one feels bad for not going to those. Most people spend all their time bragging about the one they did go to. So, no, you never have to go – but you’re going to end up going, because you always do, because that’s just you…”

 

Tony had leant his weight onto Steve as he spoke, and slumped is shoulders in defeat at his conclusion. Then he looked up at Steve.

“Come with me?” He whined. Steve smiled, and kissed his forehead.

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

 

And Steve glanced over just in time to catch the look Rhodey was giving him…

 

Impressed.

 

*

 

Clint turned up early in the afternoon, a bulging gym bag slung over one shoulder.

 

“So, I think SHEILD think you think I’m a personal trainer…” He started, as he sank into his usual seat by the window.

“I thought SHIELD thought you were here because _they_ think we’re having a ‘suspicious’ party’” Steve frowned.

“Yeah, that’s why SHIELD think I’m here – they think I’m spying on you ‘cos Nat thinks you’re having shady guests over – but I don’t think _they_ think _you_ think I’m here as a guest…” Clint threw his arms open in a _what are you going to do_? Kind of gesture.

“Okay, and who am I again?” Steve joked, and Clint immediately fell into the full performance, squinting thoughtfully at Steve and waving his hands in front of him, _hold on, don’t tell me…_

“…Now, I know it’s not Martha Stewart…” He mused, his delivery entirely serious. Steve heard Tony laugh behind him, and glanced back at him, _I blame you for this…_ In the meantime, Clint had started to unzip the gym bag – which was, in fact, full to the brim with old SHIELD paperwork.

 

As confusing as all the cover stories were, the team knew exactly what they were really doing at any given time. Today, Clint was here to deliver all the files that he’d serendipitously gotten his hands on during his last mission. On the face of it, they were staff records for some of the less savoury elements of the organisation – files that had probably not been digitised for a reason, and that they’d need to go through very carefully. There was no way to offload the leg work onto JARVIS this time.

 

“Ugh.” Tony groaned, when he saw the mountain of yellowing papers sliding down onto the floor. Then he looked at Steve “Is there any chance that you’re used to all this, seeing as you were born in 1918 and all…”

“No” Steve winced at the pile “I’ve not worked from paper in fifteen years – same as you.”

 

…And hey.

 

How about that.

*

 

Steve could _feel_ Tony panicking.

 

Before he’d even fully woken up, Steve knew, _Tony is in trouble._ Steve was looking for him, before he’d even opened his eyes.

 

It took him a few seconds to process where he was, and what was happening… Tony’s bed… And Tony was having a nightmare.

 

There was a single second of relief as Steve recognised that was all it was… and then a needle stab of compassion, as Tony whimpered again in his sleep.

 

“ _Shhh,_ Tony, _Tony,_ it’s okay…” He soothed, on autopilot – just wanting to make it _better_. Simply hearing that fear in Tony’s tone and responding to it, in an instinctive, animal way, “It’s okay, Tony, I’m here, you’re safe-”

 

Steve felt Tony jerk awake in his arms, Tony’s fingers curling sharply into his shoulders, like he was clinging to Steve for dear life… he stayed frozen like that for a full five seconds, his eyes darting wildly as he tried to work out where he was…

 

And then he collapsed heavily onto Steve’s chest, his grip loosening along with his whole body, letting go of a breath with a moan.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re home” Steve continued to comfort him, caressing his hands over Tony’s back, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, you’re safe…”

 

He carried on talking until he felt Tony’s breathing slow.

“Sorry…” Tony murmured eventually. Steve kissed his forehead very softly.

“S’okay….” He smiled, his lips still pressed to Tony’s skin. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Afghanistan” Tony muttered dismissively, like it was nothing, _oh, just that time I was kidnapped and tortured. Y’know, the usual._

 

Steve cuddled him close for a full minute.

 

“Just so you know, I will _never_ let anyone take you away, ever again.” He whispered, still stroking his hands over Tony’s shoulders “Even the other me – even though he _is_ kind of an ass, when you first meet him… I would _never_ have let anyone take you like that, and I would _never_ have stopped looking for you. Whether it’s me, or it’s him, you will never, _never_ , be on your own like that again, I promise. You can _know_ that now. Someone is coming. Someone will find you. Always….”

 

He felt Tony’s body grow heavy in his arms as he spoke, his breathing melting into sleep at last. But still, Steve kept talking.

 

“You are loved, Tony Stark. Always.”

 

*

 

It was the last day of August. The last day of summer, if you want to get poetic about it.

 

Steve really _hadn’t_ been thinking about that, before he spoke to Nick. He’d never taken the whole _summer romance_ concept that literally. In his mind, calling it a ‘summer romance’ simply meant it was a temporary thing, something that just _was what it was_ , as Tony put it… it would have to end one day, but not simply because summer was ‘officially’ over. And, when Steve first woke up, the end still seemed very far away. The end wasn’t even in Steve’s mind, yet. He was still enjoying what it was –

 

And then Nick just strolled into Tony’s living room, like this was any of his usual updates, and before Tony and Nat had even made it in to join them, casually dropped the bombshell-

 

“…And we have to discuss Operation MORANA, now that the status has changed…”

 

Steve felt his stomach go out from underneath him.

 

He knew that was horrible, before he’d processed any part of it. He was immediately outraged that Nick had mentioned it so nonchalantly, before he’d worked out the significance himself…

 

Operation MORANA was the SHIELD sponsored search for Captain America. Steve knew that.

The status had changed? And Nick was just going to throw that in there, one of his many points to make today?

 

Did that mean-

_Oh, God, it can’t-_

_Not yet – not right now_…

 

“…Steve?” Nick enquired, concerned. Steve could barely make his eyes focus on him.

 

“The status of Operation MORANA has – what’s changed, sorry?” He managed, realising as he spoke that his mouth was filing with fluid. He might _actually_ vomit-

“Well, they’re not going to keep looking for you in the arctic, now they’ve actually got you under surveillance in Malibu, are they?” Nick answered, slowly, like it should have been obvious.

 

Steve had to say it to himself twice before he understood what the words meant. Or, no, he never got that far. He only had to work out-

 

_Oh, they haven’t found him yet._

 

The relief was so overwhelming, he thought he might throw up anyway.

 

“Sorry” he managed, still trying to take deep breaths “I thought you were going to say they’d found him. And, uh, you know… they shouldn’t find him yet..” He finished weakly…

 

_I can’t leave Tony yet._

 

He never did get around to analysing _why_ , but Steve remained convinced that he couldn’t stay after the other him was found. _That_ was the real deadline on this thing with Tony – this was a ‘Steve is still in the ice’ romance. And, oh thank God, the other Steve _was_ still in the ice-

 

“…Well, no, that’s what I’m telling you…” Nick carried on in the same cautious tone, watching Steve very carefully, like he was waiting for him to fall down. “…they’re not _going_ to find him now, until you tell them to.”

 

And, at first, Steve was just being relieved. He was still so swamped by the realisation that he didn’t have to say goodbye _today_ , that it took a moment to filter through…

 

_So they definitely won’t find him until 2012…_

_Or…_

_… whenever I say…_

 

“That’s a good thing, right?” Nick asked. Steve just looked away.

 

…Was it?

 


	9. Chapter 9

Steve barely heard the rest of Nick’s update.

 

Luckily, Nick only had a few details to share with Steve, Tony and Nat that afternoon – Clint and Maria weren’t able to get to Tony’s until that evening, and what _Nick_ called ‘the important details’ had to wait until everyone was there. He could only share the insignificant, not-remotely-heart shattering revelation that Steve would have to put his own bullet in this thing with Tony… and some minor changes in the SHIELD IT system, or something… Steve wasn’t listening.

 

He’d always known that this thing would have to end – he even _thought_ he knew when it was coming, and that he’d have to endure the increasing sadness of that date approaching… but to have to make it happen himself… It was one thing to go into a world knowing someone you loved was going to die, but to be told _you’d_ have to be the one to pull the trigger on that day... And, okay, Tony wasn’t going to die – But Steve felt like _he_ might, without him. Knowing it was ‘meant’ to happen was of no help.

 

It was no guarantee he _could_ do it, when it came down to it.

 

And, of course, with that came all the questions about _why_ he had to do it…what was ‘supposed’ to happen, and what he could ‘allow’ to happen and… even deeper ideas than that.

 

On top of which, and entirely separate to which, was the perfectly human anxiety that he’d done something terrible without realising it. That ‘this thing’ with Tony wasn’t the perfectly natural, entirely obvious thing he’d assumed it was… that maybe he’d just allowed himself to sleepwalk into something reckless, and harmful, for no other reason than he wanted to-

 

“Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve snapped himself out of his own head and realised he didn’t even know who’d spoken. “Sorry?”

“ _She said_ ” Nick clarified, apparently on Nat’s behalf “Assuming you’re in Tony’s room as usual, Nat can have your room tonight, and that leaves a room free for everyone else.”

“Oh, yeah, fine, obviously” Steve responded dismissively, without even thinking about it. It wasn’t until everyone started awkwardly moving around him, calling an unsure end to the meeting, that Steve realised-

 

He didn’t _want_ to go to Tony’s room, tonight.

 

He didn’t know what to say to Tony right now. He didn’t know how he felt, or what he should do – if he went to Tony’s room he’d have to do it, kiss him or refuse to, he’d be on that path then.

 

He just needed more _time_.

 

“Can you excuse me?” He mumbled, to no one in particular.

“Where’re you going?” Nat asked, perfectly casually, as he walked by her.

“Just… out for a minute. I need some air.”

 

*

 

Steve managed to avoid any conversation of any consequence for the rest of the day.

 

He’d greeted Maria and Clint when they arrived, and added his vote for starting the real meeting tomorrow – mainly because he didn’t feel up to discussing anything of actual importance, tonight. And this meeting was going to be important. It was the big, end-of-the-arbitrary-twelve-week catch up, the meeting where they decided the next stage of this whole thing. And, given that Steve already _knew_ they were running out of data to be collected legitimately, he already knew that the ‘initiation period’ of The Avengers was done. It was time to decide how they proceeded… _who_ they included… The easy part was officially over, on the first day of Autumn.

 

Steve particularly hated the poetic narrative in that.

 

When official business for the day wound down, Steve was torn between the twin desires of wanting to run to bed and wanting to avoid Tony’s room for as long as possible. In the end the former won out, and he found himself sitting fully dressed on Tony’s bed, staring at the wall.

 

He was just so unbearably _sad_.

 

His day spent in solitude had put off having to deal with anything, but the time alone to think hadn’t brought him to many conclusions. Just one, really, and it was a conclusion he really wished he hadn’t reached.

 

But this thing with Tony was already over.

 

Whatever it became, whatever happened next, this wonderful, _natural_ summer had already come to an end. The very fact that Steve was _aware_ now, of so many things. The fact that he was thinking all these things… even if he could convince himself it had all been okay…

 

Oh, he’d just _had_ Tony, this whole summer. He’d just held him, and talked to him, and made him smile. He’d just _liked_ it, he’d just been _happy,_ just that, nothing else… and now he knew there would always be something else. All these things that maybe there should have been, all along. Things he should have thought – but, God, for the first time in his life, he _wasn’t_ thinking, and there was so much joy is life, if only you didn’t see the other stuff. And he didn’t even know _how_ he’d missed the other stuff, but he’d seen it now, and there was no undoing it…

 

Now, he was worried that he’d already stolen Tony’s whole future, without even meaning too, because he was reckless and selfish and took what he wanted without even thinking…

Now, he was concerned that he’d taken advantage of Tony in some way. That, even if he hadn’t, the very fact that he was only thinking about it _now_ …

Now, he was worried that maybe Tony would miss _him_ … he’d always just assumed that Tony wouldn’t get attached to him, that Tony had never loved him in any reality, that he was only ever going to be Miss October… and now the thought of Tony not even caring if he left broke Steve’s heart. He _wanted_ to tell himself, _surely, it would mean something_… but, no, that was _wrong_. Because, if it _did_ mean something to Tony – God, was it going to mean something to Tony? Was it possible for this summer to have felt _this_ special to only him-

 

And then Tony walked in, looking especially lovely, and Steve’s stomach didn’t know what to do.

 

“Hey.” Tony spoke first, his tone full of concern. Steve felt himself crumple. _Please don’t ask me_.

 

But, of course Tony was going to ask him-

 

It was fucking inevitable.

 

“So, do you want to talk about what’s going on with you today?” Tony started breezily, walking over to sit in a chair in the corner of the room. Leaving some distance. Steve didn’t know whether to be hurt or relieved, which made no sense at all.

 

And, the honest answer to Tony’s question was _not really._ Steve even thought about saying that…but then what? Did he let Tony come over and hold him? Did he say _not tonight, dear,_ and refuse to explain? The problem was, he knew the offer Tony was really making with that question – _do you want me to be anxious, or you_? Because Steve knew Tony wouldn’t make him answer. Steve would only have to say he needed space tonight, and Tony wouldn’t push it… but then, Tony would worry. _Tony_ would be anxious that he didn’t know what Steve was thinking, Tony might worry that it was about him – which, okay, it _was_ , but Steve didn’t want Tony to think that. For the first time in three months, Steve was actively _thinking_ about why he was here in the first place… This was all supposed to be Tony’s happily ever after.

 

_Have you already fucked that up? You don’t even know, do you._

 

“I…just… you know, phase two of The Avengers…” Steve scrambled for something to say as he was saying it – because he _couldn’t_ say the real reason. He could talk to Tony about nearly anything these days… he _had_ been able to… _oh, God, don’t fucking cry_ – the _point_ was, he couldn’t talk to Tony about _this_. He couldn’t ask Tony what Tony meant as a human being, whether he thought he’d be hurt if Steve said he was leaving – he couldn’t ask Tony to make him a philosophy out of himself. And Steve really _might_ cry, if he didn’t say _something_ , so… “I just know that this isn’t how it happened the first time, and…you know, all of that…”

 

But Tony knew that wasn’t it. Tony _knew_ Steve was lying. And more than _anything_ , Steve had been so determined that he’d never make Tony feel this way…

 

And then he felt one tear slide down his cheek, and that was it. He was crying.

 

“Hey, Steve-” Tony soothed, walking over to him. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve wasn’t allowed to lean into it, and he couldn’t flinch away – so he froze. And Tony felt him freeze, and moved away.

 

Steve’s blood ran cold, thinking of the path he was about to take – or, no, the stream he was going to have this riptide pull him down.

 

“Steve, what’s going on?” Tony asked, his voice more imploring now. Steve took a few deep breaths, managing to get his tears under control before they got control of him – just.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, as soon as he was able. Trying to smile.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Tony told him, sitting down at the other end of the bed. Like he was trying to negotiate the space he belonged in now. Like it was all already happening. “Just… can you try and tell me what’s going on? Is it something you _can’t_ talk about?” And Steve took another slow breath, trying to piece together something to say, and then Tony just outright asked him,

 

“Is this because they’ve stopped looking for Captain America?”

 

Of course he did.

 

And Steve really _wasn’t_ sure he welcomed the intervention, this time. Tony’s knack for identifying the really difficult question was of less use when Steve already _knew_ the difficult question – when the issue was actually that he couldn’t talk to Tony about it.

 

But, as he had to say something…

 

As it was becoming horribly, tragically obvious which stream he’d been dragged down…

 

_Oh, God, don’t make me leave him…_

 

But he couldn’t stay. Not forever. And they couldn’t carry on as they had been – not anymore. And he didn’t have the time to talk himself into anything else. It didn’t work that way, even for him. Tony was here now, he was asking the question now… Steve knew what most of the evidence told him, what he’d been telling himself all along. He knew any search for an alternative was motivated purely on what he wanted, not what was right… maybe he’d regret it one day, but if he had to make a choice now…

 

He couldn’t choose to shore this up. It was all he wanted to do… but based on what he knew now, it wouldn’t be right.

 

He could only start to step away…

 

_Oh, please, I don’t want to leave him…_

 

“I just…I think about this other me, out there in the ice… I’ve always regretted that _I_ had to wake up in the middle of a catastrophe, so part of me wonders if I should make sure I don’t do that, if I should choose a _good_ time… and then part of me thinks, at least I got to join a team at the beginning… If I start building this team up without him, will it make it worse that we’ve… _they’ve_ all already known each other for so long… Should I just do it when it was going to happen the first time… I just… I didn’t think I’d be making the choice…is all” Steve forced it all out over an unwilling tongue, never managing to look at Tony.

 

He felt like _he_ was the one on the receiving end of this, like he was the one listening to all these little steps away from this thing – this _relationship_ with Tony, that was all he’d ever wanted. He wanted to reach out to Tony more and more as he edged away from him, he didn’t _want_ to remind Tony that this had to end, to start a conversation about where this was going, to even _suggest_ that-

 

“You think you should go and find him _early_?” And there was an edge on Tony’s voice as he picked up on that very idea – the one idea Steve hadn’t faced yet, the one he’d been most scared to look at. As always. This time, when Tony put the difficult question right there in front of Steve’s face, it wasn’t in the easy, understanding way he usually did. It wasn’t _angry_ , per se, or scared, exactly… but affected enough to throw Steve just a little. There was an icy stab in Steve’s chest, as he _made_ himself answer.

“I don’t know.” _Don’t say it! Please, I don’t want to say it…_ “I think, _maybe_ … I don’t know. If that’s going to be the team one day… I _know,_ really, I’ve always had that power, and maybe I’m thinking now that I should’ve thought this before…a lot of things I should’ve… But hearing Nick literally say it’s my choice now, and knowing that tomorrow is actually the start of… maybe the right thing is to let him be a part of it…maybe it’s better for everyone, if…”

 

_Please, tell me no, Tony._

_Oh, God, I don’t want to do this._

 

When Steve woke up this morning, Tony had been nestled into that little space against his chest, his fingers resting on Steve’s hipbone, that place he always fell into… This morning, that was normal, that was just Steve’s life.. And now…

 

“Do you ever think about morality, Steve?” Tony sighed – not accusatory, or angry…but not the warm, comfortable tone he usually had when he started his philosophical conversations. “I don’t mean, do you think about whether something is moral or not – I mean, what morality _is_ , what you’re actually going for, with that…”

“I don’t know” Steve exhaled, so sad and defeated now that it was hard to push himself on with this. “I feel like I do. I feel like I ask myself a lot of questions about that… and I don’t know what I do to answer them. I _don’t_ know, what I’m going for, still…”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, since this whole thing with SHIELD. Since it occurred to me, that if we _are_ building SHIELD again… _whoever_ builds these things, they have to decide what is right and wrong. I’ve been thinking… all these rules I have for myself, all these guidelines for whether I’ve done enough… Would I feel like it was fair, to apply them to other people?”

 

And Steve’s first thought was that he _wished_ that he could’ve made the real Tony understand that.

And then he felt _terrible_ for thinking of the other Tony as the _real_ Tony.

And then he felt just as bad for calling him ‘the other Tony’.

And then he realised – _this_ Tony knew something he wished the first Tony had known. This Tony was saying something Tony would _never_ have said.

 

Steve did not like that. At all.

 

“I’ve been thinking… It’s all well and good for _me_ to decide that I have to save everyone, that I’m going to mourn every person I couldn’t save or every little thing I could’ve done better – I think, maybe, feeling bad about all that _makes_ me feel like a better person, sometimes… but what if I really was a director of SHIELD, and it was my job to decide whether someone should be punished, for trying their best to save everyone and _almost_ managing it…” Tony carried on, oblivious to the fact that every word twisted that knife in Steve’s chest again. “If one of these new recruits ever came to _you_ , as director of anything, after they’d made this choice…what would you blame them for not thinking of? What would you have expected them to base the choice on?”

 

But Steve couldn’t really think about what these new ideas meant for him, right now. All he could think was-

 

“Since when do you think like that?”

 

And, oh, he really hadn’t meant it to come out as critical as that. The emotion in his voice was purely a reflection of the turmoil in his own head – but he knew how it sounded. And, when Tony looked up at him, wounded, Steve knew he’d earned it.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said, immediately. “I didn’t mean that to…I didn’t mean that.”

“So what _did_ you mean?” Tony demanded, his own voice harder now-

 

And, Oh God, they were fighting.

 

They’d never had a fight before-

 

_What are you talking about? You rammed your shield into his heart-_

_But you’ve never had a fight with him_

_It’s the same person, its part of the same-_

_Is it fuck the same person – listen to him._

_Shut up, shut up, shup up, I’m trying to-_

 

“You mean _he_ didn’t think like that, don’t you?” Tony demanded.

“I _mean_ , I’ve never heard _you_ talk like that, in any reality” Steve looked for _anything_ he could say, to retract what he’d already said.

“And it upsets you.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course it doesn’t upset me-“

“Yes, it does Steve! _Jesus Christ_ -“ But Tony cut himself off, and stood up, and took a breath to calm himself. Meanwhile, Steve’s entire body crawled with misery. He hated every part of this, and _all_ he wanted to do was throw his arms around Tony now, and – “You know when you first arrived in Monaco, and I told you it was like even though you were all about me, I wasn’t even there? Well, that’s how I feel right now. I’d really rather you just _say_ if it’s some lofty, time God thing you can’t discuss with me” A hint of nastiness was threatening to break through, now “Because this _thing_ you do, where you talk to me like I’m your little project and you’re just trying to appease me – doesn’t.”

 

And maybe it was just how unhappy Steve was already.

Maybe it was the fact that _Tony_ had started to lose his temper.

Or maybe it was the fact that, _once again_ , Tony had successfully seen right through him… and Steve _was_ making a little project of Tony, and until this very second it had been the _one_ thing he was sure of –

 

But, whatever it was, Steve was just _so_ damn hurt.

 

“I _thought_ you said you knew how to do a summer romance?” Steve shot back – and, yes, he regretted it the moment he said it, even before he saw the pained way Tony recoiled from it.

“ _I_ do know how to have a summer romance.” Tony retorted, “ _I’m_ not the one who’s spent the last three months-” But he cut himself short again, pinching his lips closed and looking away. “You know what? There is no point in having this conversation, is there? Because you aren’t even talking to _me_ ”

“Oh, come on, Tony-”

“What, you _want_ to talk to me about something?” Tony looked him right in the eye again.

 

_Damnit, how do you do this, every damn time._

 

No, Steve didn’t want to talk about any of this. He had no clue what he was going to say if he could convince Tony to stay. But he _didn’t_ want Tony to go. He-

 

“Look, I’m going down to the workshop” Tony said, in a tone that suggested he’d meant there to be more… but he couldn’t think of anything. So he just left.

 

Steve remained rooted to the spot.

 

_Go after him, please go after him_

 

Oh, but he couldn’t. Tony was right – he didn’t have anything to go after him with.

 

And, anyway, he still wasn’t done with crying from earlier, apparently.

 

So he just sat there for a few minutes letting the tears slide down his face. Hot, heavy tears that came faster and faster as his shoulders began to tremble. At first, there were no thoughts. Then, there were just the formless, indulgent thoughts that kept him crying – how much he loved Tony, what he was going to do without him, how unfair it all was. He thought how perfect it had all been, how perfect it could all have been, he thought of the fact that they were the same age, and the same amount of time out of the past, that they both some unique knowledge of the future to share with the other – he cried for the fact that it _hadn’t_ been like that the first time, and never could be, now…

 

And then the more difficult thoughts came back to him. The sobbing burned out, leaving a stress headache and a searing behind his eyes.

 

 _Had_ he done something wrong by turning Tony into a project?

 _Was_ he the one that had broken the implicit rules of a relationship like this?

 _Should_ he bring himself out of the ice early? _Would_ it be better for the other him if he had more time with Tony, if the age difference was just a _little_ less, if he could be there from the very start of the new SHIELD…?

 

And Steve didn’t _want_ to make everything better for this other him, who was just a stranger to him now, just another person he was about to give all these things he so dearly wanted to keep.

And it _wasn’t_ fair that he had to, and he _didn’t_ take any joy in the happiness he’d never get to live.

 

And…

 

_Oh, God, what if I do love this Tony more?_

 

What if Tony _was_ different?

 

Oh, God – what if _Steve_ had changed him?

 

Steve had been so sure that he couldn’t possibly have an impact on someone as incredible and indomitable as _Tony Stark_. Not in three months… But it was only as he’d watched Tony storm out that Steve realised; he’d been braced for a lot of that. He’d _expected_ Tony to fight him, to test his affections or his loyalties, to keep lashing out at Steve’s kindnesses. Until he’d forgotten to expect it – because Tony just didn’t do it. Like he’d forgotten that he’d intended to correct Tony every time he put himself down…because Tony had stopped bothering to try it… and he _was_ going to stand up for Tony all the time… until everyone realised they had to think very carefully before going after Tony… And, thinking about it…Tony _had_ been far less reckless, and self-destructive, since he’d had no one telling him he couldn’t do things…

 

And, Jesus Christ, the idea that _all_ it would have taken was a single summer of unconditional love and support to change so much – _that_ was the saddest revelation of the whole fucking day. That was enough to start him crying again in earnest.

 

Steve cried, thinking that Tony – any Tony, _all_ Tony’s, apparently – was so starved of that support, so open to it and deserving of it and so willing to meet anyone half way on it…

Steve cried thinking that he’d _never_ done it before, that maybe no one had, that Tony had d-… that Tony had never known that.

And Steve cried thinking that maybe…God, _what if_ , he loved this Tony _more_?

 

What if he cared more about this person – what if he _liked_ this person, more than the one he left behind? What if he would’ve chosen this one? He’d sworn, he’d _promised_ , that he would never love anyone the way he loved Tony Stark – that he loved him _exactly as he was_. And now, what, he was saying he preferred a…better….happier…version…of that person…

 

This didn’t even make sense as a heartbreak.

 

He _felt_ exactly as bad as if he’d betrayed the memory of Tony by falling in love with a whole other person – except that it was actually more fucking confusing than that.

 

He just knew he hated himself.

And he was miserable.

And all he wanted to do was find Tony and throw his arms around him, and he couldn’t.

 

So, instead, he just sat and cried. He cried, and he cried, until he ran out of tears. Eventually, he’d worn himself out with it. Somehow, after some amount of time, Steve made himself stand up and walk to the bathroom. He washed and dried his face. The whole time he was barely aware of what he was doing – when he got back to sitting on the bed, he had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t sure it had even happened.

 

 _And now what_?

 

And, the truth was, he just _couldn’t_ sit there anymore. He had to get out of that room, all of a sudden, it was just too horrible being here. Not that he had any reason to think it’d feel any less horrible anywhere else he could go… Because, when he opened the door to leave, he was still telling himself he wasn’t going to find Tony – that he still didn’t know what he was going to say to Tony, that he couldn’t have any of the things he was going to find Tony for… it was probably a lie. That probably _was_ exactly where Steve would have ended up, and he’d probably have either said some more things he regretted, or done the very thing he was suddenly so sure he wasn’t allowed –

 

But he never got the chance.

 

As soon as he opened the door he saw Nat, Nick and Tony, gathered around a phone in a little huddle. He could tell immediately that something had just happened. And then Tony looked up at him, and there was a compassion in his eyes that Steve knew had nothing to do with their earlier fight – that might even have been an assurance that the fight didn’t matter, now…

 

“What’s happened?” Steve asked, his voice hoarse. He saw Nick and Nat look at Tony to answer him.

“Nat just got a call from a contact in Romania.” Tony explained, softly.

 

“We have a way to get to Bucky’s handler.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

The five of them sat in a circle in Tony’s lounge, half of them still in their pyjamas, while Nat explained the few details she had so far.

 

The Hydra team responsible for ‘The Asset’ had recently (probably) relocated to Bulgaria – and, more importantly, was under new leadership.

 

The Winter Soldier’s previous handler, Vasily Karpov, had been recruited by the team who’d captured and corrupted Bucky in the first place. Karpov’s origins were rooted in the original Hydra, and therefore almost impossible to uncover. All of Nat’s enquiries on Karpov had led to the same answer – people knew who he was, and a few knew what role he performed, and that was it. No known contacts, no personal history, no mission reports on file anywhere. Tony had scanned as many of SHIELDs systems as he could potentially access – using not-so-legitimate means on this one – and come up empty. Vasily Karpov was a dead end.

 

But, according to a reliable source, Karpov had recently ‘retired’… and that opened up a lot of options, if they acted quickly enough.

 

Steve had basically slipped back into Captain America from the moment Nat started talking. And, God, that _was_ retro. It’d been a long time since Steve had been in a situation where this particular coping mechanism would even apply…but, as much as Steve still wanted to punch Captain America in the face, he did have his uses. Seeing as Steve was back into _a_ real world, whatever that meant, and seeing as there were apparently consequences again all of a sudden… Shutting off his internal dialogue and retreating into his professional identity was probably the _healthiest_ thing he could have done, right this second.

 

Because one voice in his head was screaming that this was _Bucky_ – and, regardless of Steve’s existential bullshit, Bucky was out there suffering _right now_. There was not only the inherent impulse to help him, but an entirely separate feeling of loyalty to that impulse – a voice reminding Steve that he was _supposed_ to put Bucky first. That he’d _always_ put Bucky first. That if he allowed himself to think, for even a second, that Bucky didn’t count right now or had to wait until some other part of this was dealt with…If Bucky wasn’t real, all of the time, then nothing was, and..

And there was another, equally avid part of him that really didn’t want to deal with this whole Bucky situation right now – a part of him that would have preferred not to have an _option_ to help Bucky at this very moment, there he said it. Because _right now_ he wanted to fix this thing with Tony, he had no idea how, but… right now, Tony was what he actually wanted to be thinking about.

And, of course, those two parts of himself were busy feeling terrible about themselves, and fighting with each other-

 

So, all in all, it was probably better to just be Captain America, tonight.

 

And Captain America didn’t do a bad job of listening to the details, and thinking strategically. It was Captain America that was trying to think of mission relevant questions.

“So your contact doesn’t know where they are exactly?”

“No – he doesn’t _know_ they’re in Bulgaria. He only _knows_ that The Winter Soldier was credited with an assassination and theft of SHIELD documents in Romania – they _think_ they tracked them to Bulgaria. That’s just where the trail went cold.”

“But we know who the new handler is?”

“…I know him.” Nat informed Steve, perfunctorily. “From before I joined SHIELD.”

“And who is he?”

“Vladimir Korda. He was the head of a small group of…sort-of independent assassins, usually hired by agencies working on behalf of the KGB. He was also arrested by SHIELD in the late nineties – but all records of what happened to him afterwards have mysteriously disappeared. So, it’s safe to assume that Hydra got to recruiting him.”

“And you think you have a way to get in touch with him?”

“I think, potentially, we should be looking forward to Phase Two of The Avengers with this thing.” Nat answered, decisively.

 

Even in the middle of his own personal crisis, Steve found a moment to smile at just how easily Nat had slipped into the role of leader. Looking at her now, standing to address the group, he could so clearly remember her…a _version_ of her…leading a council of intergalactic peacekeepers…

 

But he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by that now.

 

“We’ve always known that, at some point, we were going to have to go undercover with this thing. There is certain information we can’t get access to unless we take on cover missions… and some information that we’re never supposed to know exists, stuff we’re going to have to go right into Hydra to find… Like whatever files they have on Bucky.”

“You want to go undercover to get to Bucky?” Steve clarified, slowly. He already had a bad feeling about this…

“…We’ve said before that our best shot of getting access to the really Hydra stuff is by infiltrating one of their side operations. We’ve always known it’d be hard to convince Pierce, or anyone on the SHIELD side of things, that any of _us_ have gone rogue. Anyone who _knows_ us isn’t going to let us see that stuff, whatever we try to tell them. But Korda’s team exist on the fringes, they aren’t in regular contact with the people giving the orders – _and_ they’re likely to be pretty embedded in the dark side, if they’re enforcing on behalf of the whole of Hydra. Even if it wasn’t helping Bucky, this is as good an opportunity as we were looking for. It’s the most information we can hope to get from one team, and the best chance we have of getting a Hydra team to give us access – If _anyone_ is going to believe that one of us is there to _legitimately_ engage Hydra… Korda will believe I am.”

“…and you’re _sure_ of that?” Steve frowned, still not sure what made him _so_ uneasy about this.

“I’m not saying we rush into this. We’ll have to set up a cover story, and make sure we’re not jeopardising the whole operation, and have an exit plan… but, honestly, I don’t think Korda would even think to look into it, if I turned up on behalf of someone who wanted to hire The Winter Soldier.”

“He’s not going to agree to that-”

“He doesn’t have to say yes. He just has to agree to see me, so that I can ask – we just need an _in_.”

“And if he reports back to SHIELD that you were there?”

“Well, I’m hoping we can do this thing so that doesn’t happen – if we plan it right, hopefully we’ll be able to take the whole thing down and get Bucky home before Korda has a chance to tell anyone anything.”

“And do what with them? Are we going to have to kill them all, so that they don’t talk?” Captain America asked – because, morals and all that.

“I know people who we can trust to detain them, at least in the short term” Nick answered, ominously. “At least we can be sure they won’t be telling anybody shit – and SHIELD won’t know _what_ happened to their team, or their _asset_ , if we get it right.”

“And if we get it wrong?”

“Well, I don’t intend to say I’m there on behalf of SHIELD – if word _does_ get back to them that I’m moonlighting for some _other_ secret organisation, it can only help me later, if I want to convince them I’ve been a double agent all along…” Nat shrugged.

“And if this _does_ lead to SHIELD finding out what we’re up to?” Steve asked.

“Well, like I say, we have to do a lot of contingency planning, make sure we’re as prepared as we can be for that to happen… but, honestly Steve, we’re going to be able to say that about every step we take from here on in.”

 

And, of course she was right. That wasn’t what was really bothering Steve, apparently.

 

“And what target are you going to be suggesting?”

“I won’t be, at the first meeting.” Nat replied, casually.

“But if he pushes? I mean, if we end up just _throwing_ a name out there…” But Steve was beginning to lose Captain America a bit, he could hear it in his own voice. The way the newsreel tone melted into the sound of an actual person, thinking out loud…

 

And then, casual as you like, Tony suggested.

 

“Well, if it came to it, you could always say someone wanted _me_ killed.”

 

Steve felt his mouth fall open.

 

“I mean, at least I could be prepared for it” Tony continued, oblivious “rather than accidentally setting him on some-”

 

“ _No.”_

 

The whole room stopped and stared at Steve, recoiling slightly from the volume and veracity of that statement. And Steve _did_ know that it had been over the top, he could _see_ the reaction it was getting – but he still felt so much. He couldn’t control his voice when he added.

 

“ _Absolutely not_. No. Under no – just no.”

 

Too aggressive. He knew it was. But the part of his head that knew that sort of thing had just been severed from the rest of him, which was now floating away from such rational thoughts on a cloud of pure outrage.

 

“O-kaaayyyy.” Tony managed at last, somewhere between shocked and offended. “Well. Apparently _my_ handler says no, so…”

 

And, oh, Steve remembered it then. He remembered that particular, petulant snippiness he’d encountered when he _first_ met Tony. He remembered the way they _had_ fought, all those years ago.

 

A little part of him was endeared, or even relived to see it.

A much bigger part of him was disappointed, maybe even _scared_ that he was losing some other Tony, that he’d actually fallen in love with something Tony was becoming, that maybe he’d ruined it

A not insignificant part of him was confused as fuck by that.

 

And, in the end, he went with the part that had always been there. The part that hadn’t stopped to think whether it was his fault the first time Tony lashed out at him. The part of him that just _reacted_ to Tony.

 

“ _No_ , it’s because it’s a stupid fucking plan that puts everyone at risk.” Steve spat. “It’s not anything to do with _handling_ _you_. It’s about you just thinking you’ll _be prepared_ for The Winter Soldier, and not being, and us all dying trying to – you don’t have the first clue what you’re up against to even suggest that”

“Well, if you’d _speak_ , before I made my stupid suggestions, then maybe I would’ve have to ask – and Jesus, I was only asking-“

“No, you aren’t – you’re just casually offering yourself up as _bait_ , and, Jesus, why would you even ask that? Why do you _always_ have to be the one to make the sacrifice play-”

“ _Guys._ ” Nat attempted to intervene, her voice firm. It was enough to give both Steve and Tony pause – but not quite enough, or not quite _in time_ to stop Steve from saying,

 

“Not everything is about you, okay? Maybe _I_ just don’t want my best friend being set on my – on _you_ , of all people – did you even _think_ about that, before you just _asked_ -“

 

“ _Steve_.” Nat cut in -

 

And Steve stopped, more as a delayed reaction to her first intervention, really. It took a few fizzing, high colour seconds for his heart to stop pounding, for the world to catch up with him, or the other way around…

 

And he looked at Tony…

 

Steve had expected a very specific expression, he realised after the fact. He’d so immediately and completely slipped into that old pattern that he simply assumed he’d find the old Tony looking back at him. The straight back, the fire in his eyes, the particular way he set his jaw in combat like this, yet another version of _I am Tony Stark, and I am not afraid of you_.

 

But that wasn’t what Steve saw.

 

And it took him too long to process what he _was_ looking at, to push himself past, _no, wait, that isn’t right_. To recognise the fact that Tony had _softened_ at that outburst, that his eyes weren’t determined _or_ afraid…but ashamed, maybe…and…

 

He’d hurt Tony. He’d lost his temper and said things he didn’t mean… because he was afraid, and confused, and because all these different worlds were colliding, and he didn’t know what he thought-

 

_You just keep hurting him. For the same reasons, in the same way._

_You are what is inevitable._

 

_Tony, I-_

 

But it didn’t come out. Steve went to speak, but he was suddenly so _aware_ , of himself and the room and the look on Tony’s face-

 

“Okay.” Nat spoke again, calm and professional. Tony turned to look at her along with the others, finally taking his eyes off Steve.

 

Steve just looked at the floor.

 

“The truth is, _whatever_ we decide to do about this, it’s the same plan tonight.” Nat continued. “I still need to make some calls, to see whether I can pinpoint where they are, and what this job in Romania was – and whether I _can_ even make contact. We can’t do _anything_ until I’ve done that. So, _Steve_.” And she made him meet her eye “I might need you for a few minutes, so I can check some details, that’s all.” Steve just nodded weakly. “And everyone else might as well get some sleep. We’ll need to be back here for six tomorrow to decide if we _are_ pursuing this – if we want to keep it as an option on the table, we’ll have to act fast. Okay?”

 

Everyone murmured their assent, the hangover from the earlier awkwardness obviously still there. Steve looked at Tony again, and simply _couldn’t_ read his face. It looked for all the world like, _it’s okay…_ but it couldn’t be. And Steve couldn’t tell whether it was actually hurt, or sadness, or hopelessness…

 

“Steve?” Nat called him, gesturing at him to follow, presumably to the office Tony had given her on the upper floor.  But Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Tony until he saw him gesture too, _well, go on then._

 

So, defeated, Steve went.

 

*

 

Steve barely heard himself answering Nat’s questions. Confirming that a few SHIELD agents were definitely Hydra, and a few definitely weren’t. Providing what few details he knew about the role The Winter Solider played, how he fit into Hydra’s bigger plans, the chain of command between _the asset_ and Peirce. A few questions about Bucky, and the day he ‘died’. A quick run through of how Steve found out about Bucky, and what he did about it, the first time around. And the whole time he was talking, it was like his own voice was a television programme playing somewhere in the background, a white noise he’d stopped paying attention to. If Nat had asked him to repeat himself at any point, he wouldn’t have known what he just said. When they got to the end of everything, Steve had to take it on faith that any of what he’d just told her was right.

 

And then, after a pause, he recognised that she hadn’t asked another question. He finally brought his focus out of the middle distance to look at her, and found an expression of professional concern. Like a favourite teacher might give you. It was oddly comforting, in an immediate sort of a way.

 

“Is this thing with Tony something I’m going to have to worry about?” She asked eventually, not unkindly. Steve let out a little breath.

“No. I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.”

“What _was_ that about, Steve?” She prodded just gently. And Steve knew she wouldn’t make him answer her, that he _could_ just tell her it was something personal… but as he considered his options here, Steve realised…

 

Oh, God, he had a different relationship with Nat, too.

 

He’d built something completely new and separate with Nat, something different to what he’d built with Tony. He could talk to her about different things, and for different reasons-

Different things to what he’d talked to Nat about, before.

 

That was yet another layer of uncomfortable… but there were getting to be so many layers now, that it was all just mushing into one. And he should probably be thinking about the impact he was having on Nat as a person, what loyalty he owed to another version of Natasha, what their relationship was ‘supposed’ to be…but he was just so tired.

 

It was easier just to think of the things he _could_ talk to Nat about, right now.

 

“I’m just…realising a horrible parallel.” Steve summarised _one_ of his problems. “In the first timeline, I watched Bucky and Tony fight, and I ended up making a choice…well, a lot of really stupid choices… I just _really_ don’t want to have to choose between them.” 

“Well, maybe it’s none of my business, but from the outside… I don’t think _Tony_ is going to make you choose” Nat smiled “You know Tony just wants to help you find him, right?”

“I know…” Steve winced. “I just – if it happens anyway… If Bucky hurts Tony, or if I’m in the position where I’m the only one that can _stop_ Bucky from hurting Tony… It’s just… I really want to avoid being in that situation, is all. “

“What happened the last time?”

“…I stopped Tony hurting Bucky.” Steve sighed. “But that’s not… it’s a lot more complicated than that. And… it was the start of the end of everything, and I _really_ thought I could maybe at least avoid the whole… Tony versus Bucky thing. Is all.”

“Well, I don’t suppose this helps… But I don’t think there _is_ a Tony versus Bucky thing.” Nat answered, wisely “Not in this reality, anyway.”

 

Steve wasn’t sure whether that helped or not.

 

“What’re you going to do now?” She carried on, her tone more conversational now. Giving him an out, if he wanted it.

“…I _want_ to go and make things better with Tony.” Steve admitted.

“But?”

“But I don’t know how to” He exhaled, defeated. “I’ve never known that…”

“Well, you don’t seem to have done too bad a job of making things better with him so far this summer”  

 

 _Yeah, but everything is different now_.

 

But, obviously, Steve couldn’t explain that to her any more than he could to Tony. So, instead, he made his excuses, and started a slow walk back to the living room, and the choice – find Tony in his workshop, or go straight to bed.

 

Oh, he just wanted to go to Tony. He just wanted to make all of this _go away_ , to not feel it anymore – to take it from Tony. More than anything, he hated the idea that he’d hurt Tony in _exactly that way_. Again. It felt like such a bitter, _personal_ failure… not only of his little mission here – _his project_ … but in life. That horrible feeling that he’d faced this mistake before, the sinking realisation that maybe this was just _who he was_ …

 

God, what had he told himself, the last time? He’d spent so many years, in time and out of time, lamenting the way he’d treated Tony. Telling himself that if he had the chance again…

 

He’d apologise.

 

That memory, that sudden certainty, came to Steve like a flash of light; He’d always wished that he’d apologised to Tony more. That he’d apologised for the things that never got addressed, that he’d said more on those rare occasions that they did get to talk – how much he wished he’d just made the time to say that, before-

 

So, that was something, right?

 

Even if Steve couldn’t _explain_ everything, even if he couldn’t make this situation ‘better’ – he could still say he was sorry. He could make the apology he should’ve made, after every single shouting match they’d ever had. Steve had wasted that whole first timeline not sure how to say he was sorry, and scared of what would happen if he admitted he was wrong, and then it had all been too la-

 

 _No_.

 

Not going there.

 

The point was, it wasn’t too late for that _here_. Too late for a lot of other things, maybe… but he could still say he was sorry. And, honestly, he’d been so desperate to go to Tony – all he needed was _something_ to say, when he got there.

 

And so he was going to Tony’s workshop, and he was going to say sorry-

 

But Tony was waiting for him in the lounge.

 

 

Steve hesitated at that, a little skip in his internal monologue as he registered that he hadn’t expected it. After everything, Tony was _waiting_ for him. That made Steve feel even worse…but, also… kinda… good?

 

From the top of the stairs, Steve could mostly see the back of his head…although he could still see the way Tony was curled in on himself, the little bounce of his knee as he waited. Anxiously. Steve almost shouted he was sorry from there. And then, as Steve made his way down to meet him, Tony turned to look at him-

 

_Oh, God, those eyes…_

 

Steve took the last of the steps two at a time, as Tony stood up and turned towards him. Steve opened his mouth to say it. He _started_ to say it.

“Tony-”

“I’m _sorry_ , Steve.”

 

That stopped Steve in his tracks.

 

“What? No, Tony, I’m-”

 

But Tony stepped into him, and silenced him by putting his fingers against Steve’s lips. It was so soft a gesture, so gentle and so kind, and oh, Steve just wanted to _touch_ him. He just wanted…

 

“No, _I’m_ sorry” Tony corrected him – and Steve would’ve argued again, but he didn’t want to Tony to move his hand… “And I’m sorry because… you were right. I _didn’t_ think about you, when I made that stupid offer.” Steve _had_ to shake his head then, and Tony did move his fingers away, but he didn’t stop talking. “ _And_ I’m sorry for earlier too – and the really stupid thing is, earlier I was yelling at you for not acting like you’re a part of this thing, and then I go ahead and just act as though you’re not. And both things were stupid, and it wasn’t about you, it was just me being… I’m just sorry.” He sighed.

“…that’s why you were upset before?” Steve whispered, because he was suddenly so confused “Because you think I’m not a part of…”

 

Tony exhaled, a blush running up his neck, dropping his shoulders in a shy sort of way. Steve put his hands on Tony’s arms before he thought to stop himself, and Tony looked up again, with a self-aware little smile now… Steve could feel himself melting.

“I know you have this whole different impression of where my life was headed… but, from _my_ point of view, when you turned up I was … and then you just dropped out of the sky and fixed everything. And I don’t just mean the arc reactor, I mean… And, I don’t know, I’d _like_ to be able to help you back, I guess. ” He dropped his eyes again then, the blush deepening “And I _do_ know that this can’t be like that. I do understand that this is… different. I know it can’t last, and I know there are things you can’t tell me, and I can’t be for you what you’ve been for me, like we could’ve, maybe, I don’t know… I know we can’t be two people who help each other and share things like that - and I wouldn’t not do it for that… it’s just…” Tony screwed his face up, and shook his head. “I am sorry.”

 

Steve just wrapped his arms around Tony, and pulled him close.

 

He felt Tony relax against him, letting go of so much tension with a sigh. And Steve _knew_ that feeling. He knew the bitter frustration of being stuck in an argument you didn’t feel, the desperation to just make it _better_ , the instinct to run to the very person you’re fighting with because that’s who you go to when you’re miserable. He understood the relief Tony felt, knowing he didn’t have to argue any more, knowing that he’s _said_ it and it hadn’t made it worse…

 

Wow, they were actually feeling the same thing at the same time, for once.  

 

“I _am_ sorry Tony.” Steve whispered into his hair “And it wasn’t a _stupid_ idea, and the only reason I yelled is because I’m terrified of you getting hurt, that’s all, and that’s not your fault, and that doesn’t make you wrong to say it.”

 

God it felt _good_ to do this. The relief of just surrendering to this apology, of finally letting himself say the _other_ side of things out loud, the emotions that Captain America never got to show. He wasn’t even thinking of whether this conflicted with a message, or what impression he was giving, or if this would make his next leaders speech less convincing in a time of crisis. He was letting this all out for himself, as much as Tony. And he really _had_ wanted to do this, the first time around.

 

“I just lost my temper, and that’s all on me.”

“I should’ve thought.”

“You couldn’t have known” And Steve tilted his head so that he could look at Tony, their foreheads touching. “And if you have to accept there are things I can’t explain; I can’t get mad when you don’t think of those things. I know that, it’s just…”

“Some things just suck” Tony shrugged, still smiling.

“And sometimes the right thing isn’t easy all the time.” Steve added, knowingly. Quoting one of their shared philosophy talks. He saw Tony recognise it. Then Tony rested his head on Steve’s shoulder again.

“Look, how about we just go and get some sleep, and have another go at this whole life thing again tomorrow?”

 

Steve just breathed him in for a moment longer. Really, he would have liked to take Tony to bed now and fucked him to within an inch of his life. He would have liked to have taken all the love, and all this relief, and put it into every kiss. He’d have liked to prove to both of them that everything really was okay now.

 

He’d have liked it if he could’ve had another go at this ‘life’ thing, tomorrow.

 

But, if he couldn’t have _that,_ at least he could take Tony to bed and hold him. At least he could still see him, and speak to him, and hopefully help him, as he was backing away… and, ok, if he thought about that too much he knew he’d become tearful again… and, yeah, when it came to it, leaving would just suck. But, maybe, if Steve could be better than he had been… maybe it could still be okay. Maybe Steve could get through this, and it could still all be for the best.

 

And, however much it would hurt to go… Steve would never be sad he did this. He knew that now.

 

Then, just as Tony took Steve’s hand and turned toward the bedroom, Steve remembered. And he just wanted to make sure he’d said sorry for _everything_ , so,

“And, Tony – just so you know” And Tony turned back to look at him, his eyes soft. “…It always broke my heart that you were so hard on yourself. And what you were saying earlier, about trying to think how you’d judge other people and everything… I’m really happy you said that, honestly. And I’m really sorry I sounded snappy over _that_ , of all things, when… I didn’t mean it come out like that. And… yeah, maybe I _did_ mean, he never thought like that, if that’s the same as _you_ never thought it before… and, yeah, that side of things is complicated, I know. But I really _wasn’t_ upset. I just want you to know that.” Steve realised that he’d brought his hand to the side of Tony’s face as he was speaking.

 

“You know, there was a professor at MIT who said that the best way to learn a new topic, or get your head around a new idea, is to try and teach it to someone else.” Tony smiled, leaning into Steve’s hand just slightly. “And, to be honest, I’ve never actually tried that… I always _think_ I will, next time, and then next time I just lock myself in the lab with a new idea and try to figure it out myself, as usual… but, you know, sometimes I think that’s worked for me by accident. I think…maybe I do understand things better, now that I spend so much time thinking about things to say to you.”

“Yeah?” Steve found himself smiling back... But, surely, this had been the very idea that had frightened him a few hours ago…?

“I don’t know… maybe it’s just the philosophy stuff. I’ve never had anyone to talk to about that stuff before, not like we do…” Tony sighed. “Or, maybe… the thing is Steve… I know you’re unhappy.”

 

That jolted Steve somewhat.

 

“What? No, Tony-”

“I don’t mean here, or with me, or any of that.” Tony assured, warmly. “I just mean… I know that something happened, where you’re from, or there’s more to you travelling through time than you can tell me, or, I dunno, maybe being a time traveller is just a head fuck… I get that. And I even get that I can’t help you with that. But I still wish I could… so, I think about how I could. And, think enough about how to make someone _else_ feel better… sometimes you end up learning something.” He gave a self-conscious little shrug. “And… honestly, I don’t know if it even helps to hear this – changing things being a hot topic, and all… But I think _I’m_ a better person for knowing you, even if I never got to helping you with it…”

 

And suddenly Steve’s chest felt full to bursting. And, yes, there was a little bit of anxiety in there, and a bit of sadness, and a hint of regret… but, mostly, it was just a happy feeling. He went to wonder _why_ , when he knew that he’d been terrified of that very idea a few hours earlier…

 

 _Everything is easier when Tony explains it_.

 

Let to his own devices, Steve had taken this growth in Tony, and his own reaction to it, and a corrupted understanding of reality, and just turned it into a panic. A mess of conflicting priorities and a seemingly endless list of unknowns and no overall meaning whatsoever. And now, listening to Tony talk…

 

_I promised I would love you, and only you, for the rest of my life – and it’s true._

_I am going to love you more with every day that passes_

_And of course you’re using every opportunity to make yourself better – you always did that, and I always loved you for it._

_And of course I love you more than I ever have._

_And if any part of that really is because of me…_

 

Right now, mostly, that felt nice.

 

At this exact moment, it just felt good to know that at least one of his interventions was working out as he intended it… and that’s what this was, he saw that now. He saw everything so much more clearly, when Tony showed him…

 

He wished he could talk to Tony about _everything_ …

 

“I do wish you could tell me everything” Tony went on, and Steve almost laughed. “And I wish I could help you with more… but, as things are, I’ll just have to help as much as I can. And, tomorrow, that’ll mean helping to find Bucky – _without_ putting a hit out on myself, I promise” And then Steve did laugh “And… being here to talk about whatever you _can_ talk about, I guess.” And their eyes met again, and, oh, Steve wanted so much to kiss him…

 

“C’mon.” Tony reminded him, after a moment. “Time for bed.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed, we've entered another angsty, introspective portion of this tale. And, for a short while at least, our narrator is confused, and somewhat in denial, and it may take him a while to work through all this - I ask that you bare with them both. 😂 I never make them suffer without reason.  
> However, over the next two chapters, Steve will finally be facing some of the big, philosophical questions head on - which will include some discussion of quite heavy themes, and posing some difficult moral questions. If anyone would like any more detail on what that is, or has any concerns or questions about where it's going, please just let me know.  
> And I really hope you like where its going (and it IS all going somewhere, I promise!)

Everyone gathered in Tony’s lounge again just before six. The sun hadn’t made it over the horizon yet, and everything was bathed in an eerie blue glow. It highlighted the shadows under everyone’s eyes, the unnatural pallor of everybody’s skin, the general feeling of melancholy in the room. Usually, everyone would be chatting as they gathered the materials for their meeting, calling out to each other across the floors of the house or teasing one another while they waited – but not this morning. This morning everyone seemed subdued. Tired, in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour. The others, probably, were taking a moment to consider the next stage of this thing, all the risks they were about to take, all the unknowns they were about to leap into… or maybe they just wished they were still in bed. Steve couldn’t guess, really. Steve had already removed himself from them, by then.

 

For the first time since he first arrived here, Steve found himself looking at this group of people from a distance. Not from above exactly, but from a different place entirely. He’d spent most of the night thinking. Once he’d realised that he couldn’t _feel_ any of this right now, or else he’d have ended up sobbing into Tony’s neck again and reacting emotionally and saying things he didn’t mean. Last night, as he felt Tony finally relax into sleep against his chest, the layers of clothing between them feeling as unnatural as if Steve had gone to bed in his shoes, Steve recognised that all he could do was _think_ about his. Detach himself from his feelings, become Captain America – _decide_ what to do for the best. And, after several hours of cold calculations on the matter… Steve had an idea.

 

“…You want to tell them _Captain America_ is working for Hydra?” Clint repeated, with a sceptical frown.

“Who the hell is going to believe _that_?” Nick asked, but before Steve could answer him, Nat cut in,

“What _is_ the cover story? The full cover story, beyond ‘I work for Hydra now’”

“I tell them I’m here from the future.” Steve suggested. “The phone I’ve got with me is probably enough to prove that. I _tell_ them that I came out of the ice in 2012 – or, any year we like, and that I lived for over ten years before I came back. That’s why I look so much older than I did when I went missing, and so on.”

“And how does that help?” Nick queried – although the question sounded genuine.

“ _Because_ , it means I’ve lived ten years that Korda can’t know anything about. He doesn’t know what I’ve been though, or who got to me – and, if he’s heard anything about me since I got here, he’s heard that I’m apparently nothing like Captain America.”

“So what _are_ you planning on telling him you went through?” Nat pressed.

“Well, I’m not saying I’ve worked out the finer details. But if I tell him I woke up in the future and, I dunno, was betrayed by SHIELD, thought the future was an ugly place, realised Hydra had been right all along, blah, blah, blah – the point is, what if I told him that _Hydra_ sent me back in time in the first place?” Steve left a little pause so that everyone could consider it. “What if I tell him the fate of _hydra_ rests on him giving me access to Bucky for a few minutes?”

“Assuming Korda agrees to meet you in the first place” Nat mused, clearly taking the suggestion seriously.

“…well, we can try that first.” Steve began, ominously. “But, if we know where he is… I don’t need permission to go in and talk to him. If it’s a fringe team of six agents in a remote outpost somewhere – they’ll listen to me if I tell them to.”

 

“Is this just Nat’s plan with you doing it instead of her?” Tony asked, his voice oddly level.

“…It’s the same plan, with a different person, and a different cover story.” Steve replied, equally unnaturally. Trying his best to stay a little bit detached from this, avoid a scene like yesterday… “And the same back up plan. _If_ it all goes wrong, then yeah, we can probably take that base by force and just _take_ Bucky…and if we can contain the story about us being there, then I suppose that would do. But, before we do that, yeah, it does make sense to try and get them to trust us, and to get as much information as we can – and I think this is a better, safer way of doing that.”

“And why is it better for you to go instead of Nat?” Tony continued, carefully. “Since she actually knows the guy, and all.”

“Well… for a start, no offence Nat, but I think I’ve got more chance of walking out alive if it all goes wrong. Any group of agents that were able to kill me would be able to kill her.” Steve switched his attention between Nat and Tony. Nat gave a little shrug, _it’s a fair point,_ and Tony just pinched his lips together. “And, honestly, I think it’s a better cover story. I think if Nat turns up asking about Bucky, there _is_ a chance the guy gets suspicious, and there’s no chance he says yes right off the bat. That really is just an _in_. But…I think I can get him to believe it. I think there’s a _chance_ , this way, I can actually get them to show us something – _and_ , okay, let’s say word _does_ get back to Peirce that I was in Bulgaria and I met Korda and I said all that… that’s good, right?” He gave everyone another moment to think it through. “…Honestly, when we’re ready… I don’t think it’s a bad cover story to feed to Peirce anyway. It might be the _only_ chance we have to get them to trust us – and if he hears it ahead of time, it’s better than him hearing that we’re on to him, right?” By now, Steve was looking only at Tony. Tony was looking right through him.

 

“So, should we come up with the finer details of the cover story then?” Tony went on, eventually… and something in his tone made Steve’s blood run cold. Suddenly, Tony sounded like a stranger, like he really was answering the question as a professional.

 

Now, Tony was talking to Steve the same way Steve was talking about everything. And Steve didn’t like that. And he really didn’t like that he didn’t like that – he was aware it was hypocritical, and childish, and that he was supposed to be moving away from feelings like that anyway. So he ignored it.

 

But it still hurt.

 

“I’m still not convinced that anyone will believe Steve works for Hydra” Nick commented, helpfully.

“Writing that cover story might be quite _fun_ though…” Clint mused.

“And you have already convinced the council that Steve is a drug fucked sex addict with a knife fetish.” Maria reminded him.

“Gun fetish.” Nick corrected, casually. And then, when Steve cocked an eyebrow at him “Oh, I told them you like guns. Like, _really_ like them.”

 

“ _Okay_ , so.” Tony called the room back to order – not annoyed, or impatient, or rude. Just perfunctory. Like he had no strong emotions on this issue beyond a desire to get it done. “Since we _are_ sending Steve in instead of Nat, does it make sense to just keep Nat out of it all together?”

“But if Nat does have _some_ sort of history with this guy, doesn’t it make sense to use it to our advantage?” Steve asked, cautiously.

“Won’t he be more likely to believe that Steve works for Hydra, if he has some confirmation from someone he knows?” Maria added.

“Well, just because you have a tool in your kit, doesn’t make it appropriate for every job. And if we’re going with _this_ plan, the history between Nat and Korda isn’t relevant anymore – Steve can stroll into a Hydra base and feed them this cover story either way. What does it help to say Nat sent Steve _now_? Other than risking SHIELD finding out about her. Why does it matter if Nat calls Korda first? Steve’s going to be doing the same thing either way, and it’ll work if Steve’s convincing, and if not, it won’t.”

 

Steve couldn’t tell if there was an edge on Tony’s voice or not. If, maybe, he was just so used to hearing Tony speak in that warm, easy way, that it sounded harsh to hear him treat Steve like a co-worker.

 

Steve panicked to think of what he was losing, even now that he knew it was right. Like an addict who didn’t _want_ to give up this thing he knew was so unhealthy. There was still a voice in his head begging him to reconsider, before it was too late…

 

_It’s already too late_

_It’s always been too late_

And so Steve made himself focus on the plan unfolding all around him. The one he’d set in motion. He chipped in with details and suggestions for the cover story, he asked questions about Korda and the location and the Hydra team based there…he watched as everyone poured over the satellite pictures they had, and planned how they’d cover him, and what they’d do if it all went wrong…

 

And he thought, _well, if I do get killed doing this…_

 

It wasn’t the saddest end to this story, was it?

 

*

 

The team worked right through from six that morning until six that evening.

 

Steve wondered if anyone else was anxious about what would happen if they stopped. If the others had recognised that the easy camaraderie wouldn’t be there. If anyone else was worried about what would fill the gap… If anyone else was worried that nothing would. Or, maybe they really were just focussed on the task in hand. Maybe it _was_ just that everyone understood the importance of this mission, maybe they were just worried about everything going wrong and ruining their lives in the process.

 

Maybe Tony _wasn’t_ being cold toward him-

 

Steve had spent the whole day shutting that thought down. Every time Tony answered him perfectly politely. Every time Tony efficiently went through an element of the plan, without a single quip or putdown or smile in Steve’s direction. Every time Tony asked something entirely reasonably, or observed something without any edge on his voice, or appeared to be reading something quietly… Steve kept on recognising that something was wrong. He kept feeling that little kick in his chest, that instinct to reach out and ask what Tony was thinking. Steve kept thinking back to the night before and how sweet and understanding Tony had been, and there would be that little prickle of frustrated confusion…. And then he’d remind himself that _he_ was the one backing away from this thing, that he wasn’t entitled to that side of Tony… that there would come a time when Steve wouldn’t be here for Tony, at all. And he was trying not to think about it. So it was just the same cycle of being irrationally upset by something Tony _hadn’t_ said, and then telling himself off for feeling anything.

 

But, eventually, there was no more work to hide behind. They’d pushed through exhaustion, and headaches, and hunger, they’d worked through the frustrating bits and the confusing bits and the really difficult, dangerous bits. Nothing had deterred them. And then, it was done.

 

They had the complete plan, from start to finish, with every detail considered and every contingency discussed. After a full twenty minutes of staring silently at the final product, they’d had to concede – they were doing this thing. Tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours, the five of them would be on their first actual mission. They’d be attempting to infiltrate a Hydra base, or take it by force. How well they did on the day would decide whether they lived or died, whether their entire plan was uncovered, whether they lost their chance to rescue Bucky. Steve had considered, more than once, that if he got this wrong, he’d have ended _any_ chance to bring down Hydra. That without the Avengers it might not happen in 2014 or any other time… Steve tried to tell himself he was anxious about all that.

 

In truth, he was more anxious about what happened tonight.

 

Steve found Tony standing on the balcony, looking out over the sea. He saw Tony’s back flex just a little when he stepped out to join him, and he knew Tony knew he was there. But Tony was pretending he didn’t, his eyes still fixed somewhere beyond the horizon, like he could see so much further than anyone else.

“Hey.” Steve managed over a cold lump in his chest.

“Hey.” Tony answered, sounding resigned. Sad. Then he glanced back at Steve, and Steve felt that physical, electric resistance… that urge to push on with this conversation, and simply not being able to… He didn’t know what to say. And he hadn’t felt like that around Tony since… “So, I have to ask… If the timing of all this has any bearing on what you were saying last night?”

“What I was saying last night?” Steve repeated. He already had the feeling they were fighting again. That he was about to walk into a trap.

“You said, you’d been thinking about when to send them looking for – out in the ice. I was just thinking that us finding Bucky right now… and with you being such a big part of this plan now, I didn’t know if that meant you were thinking of…seeing it through. I didn’t know if you’d want to, you know, the switching to the other Captain America…right now…”

 

Steve just wanted to ask him what was really wrong. Whether he was angry or just upset – what they were really talking about now. But Steve was being just as guarded as Tony was. Begrudgingly, and for his own unique reasons… but still. What could he call Tony out for? And how could he ask Tony to be open with him, when he was couldn’t do the same? When he was, in fact, supposed to be avoiding emotional conversations, now.

 

“I hadn’t thought specifically…” Steve sighed, walking up to join Tony at the railing “But, no, I wouldn’t just leave you to deal with… two recently defrosted super soldiers…”

“So, when you say, _it wouldn’t be a bad line to feed Pierce eventually,_ this line about you being sent back by Hydra… were you planning on being around for that?”

“…Well, _whichever_ version of me…” Steve began, flustered. Because, truthfully, he’d forgotten he was leaving, when he made that throwaway suggestion.

 “… So you _are_ planning to be gone, before we’re at the _lying to Peirce_ stage of this thing?” Tony asked – and there was definitely an edge now.

“… I don’t know. This… _plan_ , still kinda depends on how some things work out.”

“And some things _have_ to work out a certain way.” Tony sighed “And it’s for the best that you take on certain risks – until you’re just not here at all, and then we’re all on our own, and then _that’s_ okay-”

“ _Tony_.” Steve cut him off, sad rather than angry. Tony finally looked up at him. “…You _know_ this is complicated, and you know there are things I can’t explain to you… and you _know_ I can’t stay. You’ve always known that. And I _am_ sorry-”

“Well, this is the problem Steve” Tony spoke over him. “I _don’t_ know any of that. I thought I knew all that – I think, maybe, it was better when I did _know_ all that.”

“What do you mean?” Steve demanded. And he saw Tony take a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for something,

 

“You know, I’m _really_ not good with ‘because I said so’. When people say things _have_ to be a certain way, that some things are just a fact, or there’s a proper way – mainly, because, I’ve been able to prove that wrong so many times. Or because the person saying it is just as likely to be gullible, or egotistical, or damaged, or misled as anyone that just parrots these _facts_ without ever checking for themselves… ignoring it when someone proves it wrong, because it ruins what they thought they knew-”

“Tony, this isn’t like _any_ of that. Time travel is-”

“You don’t _know_ what time travel is.” Tony stopped him. And Steve could only throw him an incredulous look before he’d carried on. “That’s the point I’m making. Back at the beginning of this thing, you just _told_ me that you knew some great truth about the universe, that you just knew things differently to me and you _couldn’t_ explain… and I wasn’t sure about it then, to be honest. It went against everything I’ve ever done before… But I trusted you. And I trusted you because I knew that time travel _was_ different, and maybe this time someone really did understand something they couldn’t explain – you really could’ve been a time Jedi, back then. And I went with it, because you _told_ me that it was the only way this could be… and now, I’m wondering if actually, you’re just a man that went time travelling. I don’t think _you_ know that you _have_ to go. I don’t think that absolute _fact_ of our relationship actually _is_ based on some understanding you have about the time space continuum or because of some future event you can’t share with me or whatever – I don’t think _you_ know why you’re going. You’re just scared to stay – _which_ actually makes this a plain old human my-boyfriend-won’t-commit-to-me-issue that you’re pretending is a lofty philosophical conundrum.”

“Tony – you _aren’t_ my boyfriend” And it killed Steve to say it – especially as his heart had leapt into his throat when Tony called him that. And he saw Tony wince a little as he recognised that he’d said it, in the heat of the moment. “And it isn’t like we didn’t talk about this before… you said-”

“Because _you_ said, Steve.” Tony huffed. “Look, I can do a lot of things. I can do serious, and I can do casual, and I can do any type of unconventional, and I can even deal with not knowing what I’m doing – but I can’t think I’m doing one thing while you know we’re doing something else. I can’t do this when you say one thing and do another – when you say things are facts and it turns out you don’t actually know them-”

“Okay, Tony, what is it I’m meant to have said that I haven’t done? What facts do I not know?” Steve tried to say it calmly, tried to get some grasp of this rapidly spiralling conversation. “Where has all this come from?”

 

“Why did you decide to take Nat’s place in the plan?” Tony asked him suddenly.

“…because I thought it was a better plan.” Steve answered, exasperated now.

“Not because you don’t care if you live or die?”

“What? No. I’m _not_ planning on getting killed, Tony – is this because I got mad that you tried to put yourself at risk?”

“No” Tony groaned, shaking his head, _you just don’t get it_ “And you’re not listening.”

“I _am_ listening”

“So, you _do_ care if you live or die, and you don’t know how this plan is going to work out, but you’ve got some ideas and an opinion about how to do it – and you’re doing that because you want it to work out for the best, is that about right?” Tony looked at him, and Steve just opened his arms in surrender, _I don’t know what you want from me._ “Cos that is just like everyone else, Steve. That’s my point. When you’re not talking about time travel – or staying with me, specifically – you forget you don’t think like everyone else. You forget you’re not _like_ everyone else – so you _are_ like everyone else. No more in control of how the future changes, not thinking about the butterfly effect – not thinking like a man with inhuman knowledge, or a man who has to leave. You’re planning months in advance, before you stop yourself. Because there _isn’t_ some great truth you’re hiding from me, is there? There isn’t a grand plan in the background you’re referring back to. You don’t _know_ anything more about the nature of time than I would, if I took that device and went ten years back into the past. And I think, maybe when you say _I can’t explain_ , you’re _not_ saying it as some separate, higher being – I think you’re just saying it like anyone else who’s confused and scared and pretending to be more confident than you are. You’re just lost, and on your own, and making it up as you go along – and I’ve just gone along with it, and I can’t anymore.”

 

Steve felt as though he’d been stripped naked. Like his skin had all been peeled away. It was as though Tony had just reached in and grabbed hold of his soul from the very bottom, like he’d listened to every half-formed anxiety that Steve’s inner monologue ever tortured him with and thought, _I can do this so much better_.

 

That was everything Steve was scared was true

That was everything Steve was trying to deny

 

Steve wanted so much to tell Tony to _stop_. He was sure if he could make Tony understand how much this was going to hurt, how much damage he was about to do – he was sure Tony wouldn’t tear him to pieces like this if only he _knew_ -

 

But Steve couldn’t speak.

 

“You _said_ you couldn’t stay. _Couldn’t_. Fact. You said that you felt like you were already dead, and you were just passing through, making people’s lives better, because that’s all there was for you now. Because you were changed, and different, and you’d seen things I wouldn’t understand. And I _could_ have a summer romance with that guy. I could enjoy having great sex and philosophical conversations with someone that just didn’t share any part of my life. I could accept that I couldn’t ask all those questions I was dying to ask about the future, about your past, I could accept that there were things you just couldn’t tell me – if that was really true. I could even accept that you didn’t know everything, that you were confused and anxious about this time travel stuff – but you still might have this wider understanding that I don’t. That, for all your questions when we talk about this stuff, maybe there was a _thing_ I just didn’t get. I could’ve accepted any of that – I did all that, I kept my end of the deal.

 

What I _can’t_ deal with is someone who _says_ they’re completely different and detached and then just _isn’t_. Someone who says they can never share your life, and then comes to parties with you and helps you in the workshop and cooks you breakfast and comes to make sure you aren’t sad when you’ve had to talk about your dad. I can’t deal with someone who tells me they’re going and then completely forgets that and starts casually chatting about months or years from now. I can’t deal with someone who says they’re already dead and then acts like they’re just as alive as any of us, just as invested, just as hopeful and clueless about how this is going to go. And I can’t just _let you go_ if its only because you’ve convinced yourself you have to. I can’t just lose you because you were wrong about that, and I just _let_ you be wrong about that, if that’s…”

 

And Tony took another deep breath. Like a little boy about to brave the high dive.

 

“If that’s what it is.”

“What do you-”

“If you just don’t _want_ to stay, Steve. If it is just a human, I-don’t-want to-commit-to-this thing, then I wish you’d just say that. I can handle ‘I can’t tell you’ if you really can’t. If I believed that – _when_ I believed that, I didn’t mind. But don’t _lie_ to me, Steve. Don’t say you _can’t_ tell me if you just don’t want to. Don’t keep on with this, _I love you, I wish I could stay_ stuff if it’s just because you think it’s what I want to hear”

 

And, of everything Tony had said, that was the thing that cut the deepest. Because, of course, Steve _did_ want Tony, more than anything. Leaving Tony was his biggest sacrifice. To have Tony question whether that meant anything at all… it _hurt_. It was the thing that finally shocked him into speaking.

 

“Tony, if you knew…” He managed, barely above a whisper. “I want to stay with you more than I can tell you – and it _is_ more than you can understand, because you _don’t know_ … you weren’t there before. And I’m sorry, but – no. You don’t know how much I love you, you can’t know, you can’t possibly know what I’m walking away from – what I’m walking into, when I leave here – and, you _don’t_ understand, and I can’t explain it.” Steve’s throat was getting tighter as he watched Tony’s eyes well up, his mouth still set defiantly, because of course Tony wouldn’t cry in front of him… “And, I just – I can’t do this now.”

 

And Steve actually held his palms up in surrender, backing away. It was a bodily reaction now, fight or flight – the _fear_ at having to confront these questions was overwhelming. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t make his legs move quickly enough-

 

And then he felt Tony’s hand on his wrist, and he froze.

 

“Tony, I _can’t-”_

“Steve, I love you.”

 

Steve felt his ribcage constrict. All the air was pushed out of his lungs, everything pressing hard against his heart.

 

“ _Please don’t_ …” He breathed, his own eyes filled with tears

“I really tried not to”

“You don’t know me” Steve asserted. And Tony just shook his head, like that had been a silly thing to say, but it wasn’t important.

“That’s not… I’m only telling you that, because – I’m _trying_ to help you, Steve.” His voice was soft now, imploring. Steve just shook his head. “I know… I know this is confusing, and terrifying, and I’m not saying I have all the answers – but neither do you. You don’t even think you do – _you_ know if you’ve really seen the truth of the universe, or you’re just trying to make sense of this. And the answers you’ve made up are making you miserable. And you’ve just decided you have to be miserable, that you can’t have all these things… and I swear to God, this isn’t about me. Not completely. I swear I would be saying this even if you were going to leave me anyway. Just so that maybe wherever you ended up… I love you too much to let you hurt yourself like that _for no reason_. And this is what I was trying to say last night, and then I said it all wrong and I upset you and I _was_ sorry… but I _shouldn’t_ have backed off. Because even if this is hard to hear, it’d be wrong of me not to say it. Even if it upsets you, if the alternative is to just let you torture yourself like this because no one is helping you – And if you’d just _listen_ to what I’m trying to say, instead of running from it, if you’d just _ask_ yourself if there was any truth in this, rather than just telling yourself there can’t be, because you just can’t be happy-”

“Tony-”

“I’m just asking you to _think_ about this, Steve” Tony pleaded. “I’m just asking you to _think_ if – maybe – there are _some_ parts of this you could at least talk to me about. Because… if you really _were_ already dead, if any of that had been true, that would be… then maybe this would all be fine. But what if you aren’t? What if you’re just…dying. What if you’re lost, and hurt, and you’ve convinced yourself of all this and… no one is helping you.”

“Tony, you don’t understand-”

“And if you said that to me while you were standing on a cliff edge, trying to convince me that we’d all be better off without you, I’d stop you from jumping. I’d never just accept, well, he said I wouldn’t understand, so I guess he knows best.” Tony sighed “And I don’t know if this is that – but neither do you, and I’m just trying to get you to think about this, before you do something you didn’t want to do and never had to do. I just want you to think about this summer – about _today_ , just about today – and you tell me… are you really, absolutely certain that you aren’t just a person who feels human things and wants human things and fits into a human life that he’s happy in? Are you sure enough that you can just _walk away_?”

 

“I can’t do this now.” Steve forced his voice a little louder, managing to take his hand away from Tony. He saw the saw Tony shrank back from him. He couldn’t believe he was doing this to him, that he was breaking Tony Starks heart-

 

_You should have known this would happen_

_This is all your fault_

 

“I just – I’m sorry, Tony, I’m so sorry, and I love you, I just…”

“We have to go and rescue Bucky in about six hours, and it’s probably not the time.” Tony finished for him, defeated.

 

And Steve still _wanted_ to reach out to him. So much. But he _had_ to run from this – he just had to.

 

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” He whispered again, before he disappeared inside.

 

*

 

Steve ended up storming into his own room in a sort of haze. It wasn’t until he spotted Nat’s bag sitting on the chair in the corner that he remembered; he wasn’t supposed to be here. That he should leave before she came back…

 

Oh, but where else could he go? Where could he run to?

 

And he remembered this specific, naked vulnerability from the first time around. He remembered that uneasy feeling that persisted, even after he’d made a home in the tower. The knowledge that there was no safety net beneath it, no parents house he could go to for the weekend, no childhood friends he could talk to about work. That nervous feeling of being a refugee in his own life, being dependant on his new friends in a way that made him uncomfortable – the permanent, silent question: where _do_ you go, if you have a fight with these people?

 

_So, that’s not a specifically Time Traveller issue, either…_

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly under his breath. He wanted to get Tony out of his head – he recognised _that_ from the first time, too... But, just like the first time, Tony had managed to claw his way into the inner workings of Steve’s subconscious. He’d found the load baring walls, the key connections. He’d disrupted the flow of everything – Jesus, how did he do this? Every time…

 

And Steve glanced at the side table. The top drawer, in which his little Time Travel GPS and his three remaining containers of Pym Particle were waiting, in their little blue pouch…

 

He thought about it. He _really_ thought about it. There was a single second where he felt like he _had_ to, that he _had_ to run, and there _was_ nowhere else, and however terrible the solution was, if it was the only solution-

 

_And the mission tomorrow?_

 

Oh, shit, right. He _couldn’t_ bale on that. He obviously just couldn’t. But he had to run, and he had nowhere to run to.

 

He’d just have to get out of the house for a minute. That was the only answer.

 

Although, he had no memory of leaving the house. He had no idea if he passed anyone on the way; he wouldn’t have known if someone had called after him. He just _walked_ , barely aware of his surroundings, away from the house and the team and Tony…

 

But it didn’t work.

 

Tony’s voice came with him. All those deep questions, all the insecurities they stirred up. Steve’s first defined response to it was anger. Irritation, and resentment. A general feeling that Tony had no right to mess with Steve’s head like this, that he had no idea what he was talking about, that he’d promised not to get attached in this relationship and surely that at least meant he should keep his nose out of Steve’s deepest personal issues. And, perversely, he thought to the night before. He thought of Tony saying he understood, that he wished Steve could tell him everything and that was okay – Steve felt like Tony had lied to him, or gone back on his word. And he felt so disappointed, thinking of how relieved he’d felt before. How he’d thought, even if everything else was falling to shit, they’d at least handled a fight in a mature way and managed a real apology, and moved on-

 

And, with that, Steve realised Tony was right – about one part of it, at least.

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, somewhere along the private road that lead from Tony’s mansion to the beach. It was like his mind came crashing back into his body, all the physical sensations coming back to him at once. He was suddenly aware of the cool air on his skin, and the sound of the waves, and the salty smell. He recognised that his lungs hurt and his eyes were burning and his legs ached. He saw his surroundings for the first time, and realised he’d made it more than a mile from the house.

 

And he realised – he _had_ been thinking like a man in a relationship, the night before.

 

Even while he was in the middle of realising that he had to leave – even when _that_ had been the actual issue – it had still managed to slip Steve’s mind. He’d _still_ managed to feel like someone who’d made up with his boyfriend, he’d still been thinking about how much better they knew each other now and how he’d handle it next time. He wasn’t thinking about making things better for Tony, he’d been thinking about things being better with _them_. Because he’d _forgotten_ it didn’t matter.

 

…And he _had_ done that all summer. He already knew that.

 

… _And_ he’d been doing that all day, he saw that now. He realised why Tony was upset, why he’d revoked his easy acceptance from the night before. He recognised, too late, that he _had_ told Tony one thing, and accepted Tony’s understanding of that thing… and then forgotten it himself. He’d forgotten that he was Captain America, occupying power in a foreign land. He’d _forgotten_ that he was supposed to be handing this team off. That he was supposed to just back Nat’s play.

 

“Oh, Tony, I’m sorry…” He whispered, all alone out there on the road.

 

He _didn’t_ think about Tony’s overall question – he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ let himself question whether he could really have all this, not again. He’d lost all this once, he’d accepted that loss, he’d come to understand the meaninglessness of the universe. And the only thing worse than accepting that everything was meaningless was the agonising process of working that out. He just… couldn’t. He had tried not to even hear it, he was still just trying to block all that out.

 

But he _had_ realised… he was giving Tony mixed messages. It _was_ all his fault that this had all fallen to pieces… because _he_ was acting like he was building something forever.

 

And he couldn’t have it. He just couldn’t.

 

He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his whole body softening in the process. He was suddenly so tired… And so sad.

 

But he knew, he had to leave – not at some hypothetical point in a distant future, not on some arbitrary date in 2012. Now. He had to go before he did any more damage. And he knew he couldn’t go _now_ , because of the mission. Fate, again, had decreed that all these crises must happen at once, that the only solution to everything was a poor solution to all the parts of it… but there it was. He had to stay until Bucky was safe, and the mission was completed – and he couldn’t stay longer than that. He _couldn’t_ stay until Bucky was well, or settled-

 

That had never been the plan. He should _never_ have been thinking like that… how he could help Bucky and how _his_ team would do this... He was supposed to know that anyway.

 

He’d help them find Bucky… and he’d explain… and he’d go.

 

And, as he turned to make the slow assent back to the house, a voice in his head spoke up, clear as a bell.

 

_Whoever would have thought that one day, Tony Stark would tell you he loved you – and then you would leave him._

 

__


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this update - on the plus side of things, it's only because I've sort of had to write the next three chapters together, so they should be posted pretty quickly (assuming I can ever stop fussing over them...)  
> Also, ongoing warning that things are introspective and angsty for a spell here... but I hope you like it, anyway...

The mission to extract Bucky would stay with Steve forever.

 

In one way, Steve was more present for that mission than he’d ever been at anything in his life. He had _never_ been more focussed on the task in hand than he was when he boarded Tony’s (now somewhat modified) jet that morning. He’d been awake all night, coming to terms with the fact that he had to leave, and carefully cutting that part of himself away, and wrapping it up, and putting it in a little box in his head. Everything he was, and everything he thought and felt and wanted, deliberately set aside… because it wasn’t important, now. By the time everyone was suited up, Steve was _only_ thinking about the mission. He boarded that plane as Captain America, ready to deal with any adversary, already planning how to handle every outcome, _knowing_ that it was all that mattered.

 

Except for that one moment…

 

Those fleeting few seconds, towards the end of the flight, when Steve glanced up and caught Tony’s eye. And he could so clearly see all the affection and concern and determination in Tony, everything he loved so much… He found himself thinking of Tony looking at Bucky with concern, rather than hatred. How different things might be for Bucky with Tony fighting for him rather than with him… and he thought of another version of himself, a younger him – another man entirely. A total stranger, who would wake up and find a totally different Tony… _his_ Tony…

 

He shook the thoughts away, and called the team together for one final run through of the plan. Nat and Clint would be following Steve into the location – another Soviet bunker, as though the parallels weren’t already glaring enough… but Steve wasn’t thinking of the symbolism. Only of the places they could hide, and what they should do if Steve’s cover was blown, and how they could get themselves out safely. Tony would be in the suit, monitoring the location from the air – able to break his way inside with a single repulsor blast, if Steve gave him the word. Maria would be monitoring the perimeter, and Nick would be manning the controls they had set up on the jet, keeping everything ready for a quick getaway.

 

It all looked very simple in Steve’s head. It all felt very flat, and perfunctory. Get inside, take down the rest of the Hydra team, tell Korda his cover story. If Korda bought it, Steve would be able to upload the tracking software to Hydra’s system, before he was shown directly to Bucky… If not, they would just have to take Bucky by force. Hopefully, at the end of it, they’d have a handful of Hydra agents to detain and take to Nick’s secure location… otherwise, they’d just leave the bodies here.  

 

And when he was asked for his report of things later, Steve would remember every factual detail. He remembered knocking out the agents at the door, with a single blow each. He remembered which staircase he took, and how many doors he passed, exactly where he was when he took down agents three and four. Steve remembered every move he used as when he snuck up behind Korda, and disarmed him, and threw him to the floor. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the exact mix of shock and outrage and confusion on Korda’s face when he rolled over to glare at him.

 

But Steve would never be able to remember what he was thinking at the time. He had no idea that he’d been feeling anything at all. When he looked back on all of it later, it would be like watching a movie. He didn’t remember being scared, or confident, or anything in between. He didn’t know how he came up with any of the stuff he came out with – but somehow, there it was.

 

Somehow, Steve knew to smile, calmly, and greet him,

 

“Hail Hydra.”

 

The shock on Korda’s face creased into confusion.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“My name is Steve Rogers – although you might know me better as Captain America” Steve told him – and Korda’s frown deepened. “I know, right? And it only get’s weirder from there.”

 

An injured groan echoed from somewhere in the back of the building, as one of the agents struggled against their restraints. Korda jumped, and looked towards the noise – and then back at Steve.

 

“Don’t worry, he’s fine” Steve reassured, with an ominous grin. “One thing I’ve learned is that… you _can_ kill everyone, and just take what you want… you can do that, sure.” And he paused to fix Korda with a look. “…But that’s always messy, and you never know when you might wish you hadn’t killed someone useful. Believe me…” And he raised his eyes skywards, like he was thinking about something only he knew. And then he looked at Korda again. “So, let’s try doing it the easy way first, eh? I’m going to tell you a little story, and then we’ll see if I actually have to burn this place to the ground after all…”

 

And Steve slipped into his backstory so easily. How he’d woken up in 2012, after Bucky had already been found and ‘fixed’ by SHIELD. How excited Steve had been to see his friend again, and to get back to the fight for good – until SHIELD screwed him over, and Bucky sided with them. How Hydra saved Steve’s life, and then changed his life, how much more Steve had done for the world since he’d changed sides…

 

It wasn’t difficult.

 

In fact, detached as he was from himself, part of Steve might even have enjoyed playing this role. Just for a few minutes, just for something different to do.

 

And then he got as far as explaining that Hydra had sent him back in time – for specific information about Bucky, and a sample of his blood, that was all.

 

“And for what purpose do you need this information?” Korda enquired – the first he’d dared to speak since Steve threatened to set him on fire.

“You don’t need to know that.” Steve told him, cheerfully.

“If I’m going to give you the access you ask for, I _do_ need to know that, in fact.” Korda replied, his voice completely level. And Steve leant forward an inch.

“I would really prefer not to kill you, Vladimir.” He sighed, as though he had no real preference one way or the other. “You were very useful, after Operation Insight. That’s why I’m being so polite about this. But.” And he leant forward a little bit more. “I don’t _actually_ care. Operation Insight went off where I’m from, you’ve served your purpose as far as I’m concerned. If I have to kill you to get what I want, I will.”

 

Korda considered him a moment longer.

 

“Just a sample of his blood?” He clarified. And Steve pulled a syringe from one of his pockets, and brandished it wish a flourish.

“Just a little sample.” He smiled.

“And his neurology reports?”

“Just one of them, actually.”

“And then you’re going to leave him here?”

“I don’t care what you do with him” Steve answered, darkly. Confident in a cover story that had been designed to absorb all these doubts. He let Korda look at him for a few more seconds. Then he saw Korda bite his bottom lip.

“Follow me” He said simply, his voice tight. Steve just carried on smiling.

 

The first part was easy. Wait until Korda loaded the file Steve had asked for, and then subtly press the button on the little device concealed in his pocket. Assuming that the computers had been updated at any point since 1995… and, looking at them, it was probably _just_ after that… Tony’s scanner could access them wirelessly, and start collecting all the information they needed. Steve didn’t flinch when he heard Tony’s voice over the PA, like he was whispering in Steve’s ear, _data transfer started._ Steve just noted that stage one of the plan was complete.

 

And he didn’t react when Korda gestured for him to follow, down to the frosted container in the corner of a concealed basement room. He’d seen Bucky’s cryo chamber in Wakanda, he’d known what to picture, what to prepare himself for. He’d _told_ himself that it was Bucky in that box, in that state of permanent death – Steve had set that aside, along with anyone else.

 

He didn’t blink when Korda opened the chamber, when he finally saw Bucky’s face, passive and peaceful under a glittering layer of ice. He didn’t think about it. He only thought that he had to get Bucky free of his restraints, preferably without goading Korda.

 

“I need you to wake him up.” Steve spoke authoritatively. He heard Korda take a slow breath… but he moved towards a control desk, and flicked a switch, and the machinery behind Bucky’s container hummed into life. Steve made a point of shooting Korda a patronising glare, _good boy_. And then Korda flicked another switch, and there was an agonised cry from the container in front of him…

 

And, oh, Steve _knew_ that voice.

 

He may’ve flinched then.

 

There was the briefest flash of a memory in his head, the image of Bucky’s face before Hydra, before the serum, before the war… the Bucky he went to school with, the Bucky who saved him from neighbourhood bullies. The idea that Steve was just standing here, while Bucky screamed in pain – while someone reached into Bucky’s head and pulled him to pieces-

 

But he swallowed it down.

 

He forced himself to open his eyes, and relax his shoulders, and just watch as that face he knew so well twisted into something unrecognisable. He made himself listen as Korda began to recite in Russian, and heard himself think, _so, those are the words._

 

He told himself it didn’t matter.

 

And then Bucky opened his eyes, and looked right through Steve, and told him.

“Я готов отвечать”

 

“I need him to step forward and raise his arm.” Steve carried on, sounding slightly bored of proceedings now. He was already thinking ahead to the syringe in his hand. It actually contained a sedative, and if he could just administer it, it would only leave Korda to take care of-

 

“У меня есть для тебя миссия” Korda spoke calmly. “убить этого человека”

 

And Steve knew that wasn’t the right instruction, even before he’d managed to translate it. It was too short.

 

And then he realised what Korda had just said.

 

_I have a mission for you. Kill this man._

 

The blow came right at Steve’s throat, knocking him back ten feet and stealing all the air from his lungs. A shuddering pain radiated up his neck and through his skull, his vision obscured by stars. He heard a crash, and the familiar sound of an arrow zipping through the air by his head – the dull squelch of it hitting flesh, a sharp gasp in Korda’s voice. He could feel the ground vibrate as Bucky stalked up to him, relentless and graceless and determined. Steve threw himself to his feet, just in time to see Bucky toss Nat aside, a few feet away from him now. He heard himself shout, _Bucky, stop_ , trying to think of where the syringe was and how to take Bucky down and how to warn Clint and Nat not to engage him, to leave it to Steve-

 

And then there was a bone shuddering crash, directly above him. Steve jumped back and threw his arm over his face, looking up toward the noise. The air was suddenly full of dust and splinters, the room was so _bright_ … he saw the hole in the ceiling… he knew when he looked back down-

 

 _Oh, please no_.

 

And there was Tony, Iron Man, standing a few feet away from Bucky, gauntlet raised.

 

There was Bucky, The Winter Soldier, taking a gun from the holster at his waist, already taking aim.

 

Steve didn’t have time to remember that Tony would never have hurt Bucky. He didn’t have time to think that Bucky couldn’t have hurt Tony, with a single shot.

 

He could just see Tony, facing off against Bucky, _again_. That he still didn’t know how he could stop this, how he could justify himself, whatever he did.

 

_You left it too late. You pushed it too far. You took a risk too many, got too involved, stayed too long. And now-_

 

And then the whole world just seemed to explode into light.

 

It was so bright it actually burned, and Steve had no choice but to screw his eyes shut and look at the floor. And he was so busy trying to work out what caused that flash, and how he could possibly push through it before something terrible happened, that at first he didn’t even hear Tony speaking.

 

“ Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать-”

 

And then when he _did_ hear Tony’s voice, it made no sense – they didn’t sound like real words, and he wasn’t talking like a real person…

 

“…Возвращение на родину. Один. Грузовой вагон”

 

And then everything was very still, and very quiet.

 

And, when Steve had finally managed to blink the purple shadows out of his vision, and he managed to look up at what was going on, he saw Bucky just standing there, patiently, looking at Tony… And then he spoke,

 

“Я готов отвечать”

 

_Ready to comply?_

 

Oh… he realised what Tony had done…

 

Strangely, the first reaction Steve felt was anger. An immediate, bodily fury – he wasn’t sure who at. He wanted to kill Korda as painfully as possible, for making that happen. He wanted to slap _Tony_ , for making him panic like that, for putting himself in between them like that. He wanted to punch Bucky, just because he’d aimed a gun at Tony, just out of that protective impulse he’d allowed himself to develop…

 

And then he heard a shout.

 

He looked over, and saw Clint standing over Korda’s prone body, staring at the control panel in alarm.

 

“What?” Steve heard himself demand, his voice aggressive and sharp.

“This whole place is rigged to blow” Clint explained, or repeated. “We have to get out of here, _now_ ” And with that Tony looked right at Bucky, and pointed at Steve, and said,

 

“Следуй за ним”

 

_Follow him._

If it weren’t for that instruction, Steve might not have run.

 

*

 

Steve stayed in his state of dizzy, furious shock for a good few hours after their escape.

 

He’d watched the base collapse into flames from the window of the jet, and thought about the agents they’d left tied up in the corridors, and the fact that his team had been a few minutes from dying along with them… and he felt nothing.

 

He’d watched Tony sedate Bucky, and strap his unconscious body to a gurney … and it was like watching a pair of strangers.

 

And then he’d sat, silently staring at the wall, completely unaware of time… His laser focus on the mission had crumbled, but Steve felt completely disconnected from the churning emotions that were there instead. He was nauseous, and lightheaded, and impatient and uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop to think _why_ , he didn’t consider the link between his physical symptoms and what had just happened. Until, after however long of static silence in his head, he heard himself think,

 

 _Too close_.

 

Just those two words… but he knew what they meant. He understood how close to the edge he’d gone, how far he’d pushed his luck, how fortunate he was to have made it out of this thing. He hadn’t come here to be a part of the team he was building for Tony, he’d never meant to be on any mission with him, to ever be in a position where he could watch Tony get hurt again. This whole thing felt like a warning shot. He knew he wouldn’t be that lucky the next time.

 

He shook his head, looking around the jet like he’d just woken up here. The things he was looking at took a little while to come into focus.

 

The first thing he saw was Bucky, just lying there on the hospital sheets, like he was sleeping. Steve felt an immediate wave of guilt, and it took him a moment to process it. And then he realised…

 

This time, he’d chosen Tony.

 

It was Tony he was desperate not to lose this time, Tony he was going to throw himself in front of… It was Bucky he’d been worried about hurting, and Tony he’d wanted to get away.

 

And, of course, he felt guilty for that anyway. That was a given, that was pre-loaded into Steve’s consciousness – for as long as he’d been alive, he’d known that he had Bucky’s back. Any situation where he chose someone else, however briefly, for whatever reason…

 

But there was a deeper guilt than that. A difficult, dirty understanding that… he’d always had a choice.

 

He’d told himself that he’d hurt Tony the first time because he _couldn’t_ hurt Bucky. Because he wasn’t clever enough or selfless enough or professional enough to work out the way that would’ve spared both of them, at least not in time – and he _couldn’t_ hurt Bucky. And now that he’d been given the chance to run an alternative scenario, he realised… it wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ hurt Bucky. Any more than he _couldn’t_ hurt Tony. He didn’t want to hurt either of them… But, when it came to it… he’d chosen the one that mattered most to _him._

 

He’d chosen Bucky the first time because he couldn’t have Tony. Because, when Tony was someone else’s boyfriend and Steve was just living a lonely, empty life, Bucky was all _he_ had left. He couldn’t let go of Bucky under those circumstances – because what would have happened to _him_?

 

And he’d chosen Tony this time, because this time Tony was part of _his_ life, and Bucky wasn’t going to be. Because, this time, Bucky played a different role in a different story, a supporting role in a romance that had Steve’s attention – this time.

 

He felt guilty for the fact that he’d focussed so hard on making a happy ending for Tony, because he’d managed to convince himself that Tony was real and important – and here was a version of Bucky that he was going to walk away from…

 

…like he’d walked away from Bucky, in the first timeline…

 

Oh, the existential questions again.

 

But it was okay – because he was going. If there had ever been a doubt in his head about that, they’d been resolved now. And if, later, he ever wondered whether he’d made the right choice, he’d only have to think back to this afternoon. To Tony and Bucky standing face to face, gun to gauntlet…

 

That obviously wasn’t right, was it?

 

Surely that moment was proof enough that Steve had over stayed his welcome…

 

And then there was a shadow on his field of vision, and when he looked up, there was Tony.

“Hey.” Tony smiled, sadly. And still, it was such a pretty smile, and Steve still loved him so much… “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve answered, in a small voice.  He saw tony pinch his lips, concerned.

“I’m sorry about… that.” Tony sighed. “I know you didn’t want to see… that…”

“It’s okay.” Steve told him. And what he meant was, it doesn’t matter. He realised, as he said it… _none of this matters_. It was the same feeling that had overwhelmed him that day in Monaco, the moment that had started this whole thing…

 

He wasn’t angry at Tony. He wasn’t sad or frightened or confused at the image of Tony standing off against Bucky, not really, not when he thought about it… when he thought about it, along side everything else he knew…

 

Nothing was a big deal, really.

 

“You know… none of us wanted anyone to _die_ ” Tony carried on talking “But… this did go okay. I’m not saying any of them deserved that, and you know we’d have gotten them out if we could – but you know this means Hydra, and SHIELD, won’t know we did this? And… Bucky is safe now, and no one knows where he is, and we don’t even have to worry about anyone we have locked up anywhere… and we _do_ have more access to Hydra’s hidden files than we ever have…” And Steve just nodded. Tony left it a moment before he told Steve “You did good today.”

 

“Come here.” Steve whispered, reaching out for him. And he saw Tony raise his eyebrows in surprise, even as he sat down next to him. Steve knew this probably counted as mixed messages again… but it didn’t matter. Not now, not after everything.

“It’s going to be okay” Tony promised, softly. And Steve just heard the kindness in his voice, he saw the very pretty vulnerability on his face, and he thought how glad he was that Tony was still here to say this to him… nothing mattered more than that. Nothing mattered at all.

 

So, Steve kissed him.

 

And it felt like such a long time since Steve had kissed him. It was almost nostalgic, even though it had only been a day… The way Tony melted into him, how well Steve knew these lips and these hands and the little sounds he made…

 

And then Tony broke away. When Steve looked up at him, he found a face creased with concern, eyes full of love and desperation. It made Steve’s chest ache… and he ignored it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony asked.

 

Of course he wasn’t. He was about to leave the man he loved, he had to walk away from everything he’d ever wanted and right into everything that scared him – and none of that was worse than the thought of never kissing _this_ Tony ever again…

 

“Yeah.” Steve lied, easily. “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

 

If the present is just what is happening to _you_ , regardless of what timeline you find yourself in, and what might’ve happened otherwise… Then, for Steve Rogers at least, the present was this-

 

It was September the 2nd, 2010 – in _a_ timeline, at least. And, in _this_ timeline, everyone else was dealing with the fact that they now had a very dependant former Hydra agent to deal with, and the whole of SHIELD to try and deflect. In this timeline there was _a_ Nat, and a Nick and a Clint and a Maria, and _a_ Tony, all thinking that the priority was securing The Winter Soldier, and tying off any lose ends, and thinking how all of this would affect the team long term…

 

But not for Steve.

 

Steve just watched, detached and superior and almost _amused_ in places, as everyone else discussed the risks and the contingencies and the meaning of it all… He just _watched,_ as Bucky’s unconscious form was dragged through Tony’s living room, up to the ‘research space’ that Tony had set aside for this eventuality. And Steve _knew_ that Bucky was about to be put into yet another Cryo chamber – one designed by Tony Stark, with the sole aim of keeping Bucky alive and healthy and calm while they worked out what Hydra had done to him, but still…  Steve knew that if he stopped to question all of this, he would spiral – and he couldn’t afford that right now. Not when he was oh so close…

 

Not when he was leaving _tomorrow_.

 

So, instead, he’d sat there silently, just letting Nat and Tony discuss the best way to ‘deal with’ Bucky – it would all be up to them now, after all. He stamped down any thought that belonged to someone who could stay. He focussed instead on the things _he_ had to do, now that he knew when he was leaving…

 

There came a point when Steve knew that everyone was distracted by something else. When everyone was absorbed with something that only Steve knew didn’t really matter… A moment he recognised as the time to move.

 

He walked into what was once his room – what had been Nat’s room, yesterday, and Tony’s guest room, before all that… None of that mattered. The significance of these places was inside his own head. All places existed a thousand times, in a thousand forms, at any given second… He ignored it all in favour of finding a pen and a piece of paper; Steve had always been more comfortable with a pen, however many years he’d spent in Tony Stark’s paperless office. Because, outside of his emotional connection to this room and this place and these people, there was still the need to get everything right…

 

There were things he had to do before he left, objectively speaking.

 

And so, while everyone else was busy figuring out Bucky’s medical needs and trying to decide how much Hydra must know already, Steve was thinking about the details he wanted his team to know, after he’d gone. He sat there are wrote out everything he thought might be relevant, about Bucky. Everything he could remember about Bruce, and Thor, and Sam. He wrote what he could remember about ULTRON, and Sokovia, and Vision and Wanda and Peitro… He didn’t know if any of that would happen now, but just in case.

 

And he thought about telling Tony about Pepper, and Morgan…

 

He wondered whether he should include a warning about Thanos, and the infinity stones…

 

He thought about all the things he knew…

 

But there had to be a line.

 

He recognised, without even thinking about it, that telling Tony to ask Pepper out was weird, and probably counterproductive. He knew that if he told Tony about Thanos, Tony would just drive himself mad with the worry of it, worse than he had the first time. Steve realised that, if he tried to explain to Tony that he saw the whole world differently now…well, Steve didn’t have the words for that himself, before he thought how he’d explain it to someone else. And he didn’t want Tony to have to worry about all of that anyway…

 

And then he looked at his letter, and saw all the gaps. All the things he was leaving to chance, or putting on Tony’s shoulders… he imaged Tony, years from now, reading this letter and asking the memory of Steve, _why didn’t you tell me_? Steve wondered how he’d feel, if he was actually faced with that question, if he’d have an explanation…

 

And then he thought of how he’d explain to Bucky, and Sam and everyone in the timeline he’d left, why he’d never come home…

 

And then he thought of Peggy, and the Commandos, and everyone he grew up with, asking how he’d forgotten them, why he’d never come back even when he’d had the chance…

 

He thought of all the terrible things he knew had happened in the world, and all the wonderful things they inspired people to do. He thought of trying to explain why he hadn’t stopped 9/11, or the holocaust, or the fall of the Roman Empire. He thought of how he’d explain himself if he _had_ tried to stop any of those things, and it had all gone wrong… Why he’d choose one before another… whether anyone would believe how many hours he’d spent trying to run simulations in his head, trying to keep straight what happened because of which events, trying to balance the cause and effect, trying to work out what he had no right to control, and when it was his responsibility to help-

 

So, this would have to do.

 

Steve would just have to believe in the people they all were, he’d just have to hope that Tony – and Nat, and Clint and Maria and Nick – would work it all out in the end. He’d just have to hope that, whatever troubles they ran into, the details Steve was leaving them with would help…

 

Maybe, this time, it would be better for the others, at least…

 

And, when he was reading through the final product, Steve did wonder if he should have included something more personal… a message, for his whole team if not just for Tony, about why he wasn’t going to be here to oversee this all himself…

 

But Tony would know that, right?

 

And Bucky would have a whole other Steve to get to know…

 

And the others would make peace with his replacement easy enough….

 

And it would just have to be this way.  

 

Steve looked at the letter he’d written, and he wanted to feel better. He wanted to feel unburdened, relieved, resolved even. But, reading it back, Steve just felt hollow.

 

He folded the paper into three, and smoothed it down so that the edges were sharp. And he thought…

 

 _It could have been beautiful_.

 

Right then, in his personal present, Steve gave himself one moment to feel this as a loss. He let himself remember all those perfect moments he got to share with Tony, to think of all the wonderful memories he’d never get to make. He thought of the person this Tony was going to become, the things another Steve would get to be a part of, things he wouldn’t even get to see. He acknowledged that he really did believe they could have made it work, this time. He accepted this it would always seem so unfair, such a waste, to have come this close and lost it all anyway.

 

And then he took a breath, and packed it all away in a little box. He put the folded letter on the side table, for Tony to find after Steve was gone. And, when he could put it off no longer, Steve took one last look at the room…

 

And went to find Tony.


	13. Breaking Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that I'm usually quite into the introspection and the broad philosophy... but here we REALLY get into some of that, so please be aware...  
> Also, as part of said conversation, some fairly heavy and potentially controversial themes are discussed. They are discussed in purely hypothetical, analytical terms, but still - Tony does find cause to ask Steve what he thinks about abortion, amongst other things. I hope that it is treated properly, and put into the correct context - but if you would like more detail about where this (or the next few...) update is going, please just let me know.  
> All that being said (and somewhat nervously) I present this... please let me know if you have any thoughts :-)

Steve had gone to Bucky’s Cyro tank first.

 

He found Nat, quietly contemplating over Bucky’s sleeping form. She barely looked away when she told Steve that he’d be sedated for the next twenty-four hours at least, that Tony had already gone down to the lab to start running the data… it was the distant tone of her voice that caught Steve’s attention.

“You okay?” He asked, walking up to stand beside her.

“Just thinking…” She told him, and then finally turned her head to look at him “It just seems funny, you know? That this team I’m supposed to be in charge of are responsible for a human being now. I could kinda see me being responsible for extraction and interrogation and rescue and all that, but…” And her eyes drifted back to Bucky, and this time Steve followed her gaze.

 

He thought about Bucky waking up tomorrow, and him not being here. He thought about Nat, and Tony, and the others, trying to work out what to do from a few pages of notes he’d left on the side table…

 

But at least this Bucky would have _a_ Steve to help him through this. Maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon. They would _all_ have a version of Steve back, soon…

 

Well, not the people he’d left in 2023.

Or the people he’d left in 1945.

Or any of the people who’d already lived their lives without him now, the thousands of timelines that Steve could never reach, only create alternatives to…

 

He shook his head, and looked at Nat, and told her,

 

“You’re going to do just fine”

 

And then he just left, to go and find Tony in the workshop… and say goodbye.

 

 

By that point, Steve’s body felt like it was rebelling against him. His legs grew stiff and heavy, like they were doing everything they could to override his decision. His muscles twitched in panic, his stomach churned, his heart threatened to burst in his chest and drown him… but his head was quiet. Not calm, but resolved. The final moment of hopeless, _pointless_ sorrow felt by a man standing at the gallows.

 

Tony turned around when he saw Steve descend the stairs, his eyes alive with concern and enquiry, his mind so obviously racing ahead to a thousand other things… it broke Steve’s heart. He wished Tony had seen this coming – maybe a little bit of him resented Tony for not seeing it coming. For being so obviously unprepared for a blow that he should have _known_ was imminent. For making this so much harder…

 

“Hey, how is he?” Tony asked, walking over to meet Steve, his tablet computer still hanging from one hand.

“Nat is monitoring him now, she said she’ll have a full report in a few hours” Steve explained, as professionally as possible.

 

He could see Tony hardening, withdrawing into himself. And Steve still wanted to undo all this, to go back to that open, enquiring face… to pretend for just a few moments more… But he always would, and he knew it.

 

And he thought of that moment, the image of Bucky and Tony facing off against each other, weapons raised. That feeling that he’d somehow had a narrow escape, to have only been as panicked and angry and frustrated as he was. Knowing that there were all these dark thoughts in him, things that moment had so nearly set free, things he knew were still too close to the surface now, just waiting for the next time.

 

There couldn’t be a next time.

 

“We need to talk.” Steve began it. And Tony knew, now. He put the tablet down, and set his shoulders, and took a shuddering little breath that Steve wished he hadn’t seen…

 

He looked up at Tony… _his_ Tony… looking back at him with those beautiful wide eyes.

 

“You know I have to leave.” Steve had to force the words out.

“When?” Tony asked, his voice both brave and small. And God, Steve wished he’d never seen Tony Stark as a little boy. He wished he could forget the way Tony had asked, _so… I’ll actually be able to breathe?_ He wished… he wished he could throw his arms around him. That was all.

“…Tomorrow.” There. He’d said it. And Tony’s little intake of breath was like a shard of glass, right between Steve’s ribs. But he’d said it.

 

For a second or two there was just that horrible, frightened silence.

 

“…I know you don’t want me to go. I know you don’t think I should go… But you’ve always known I had to go.” Steve made himself go on, unable to look at Tony now. “And… there are things I’d like to say, or explain… but I don’t want this to be an awful night.” He heard Tony huff out a sarcastic little laugh, and his stomach tightened, but still he powered through. “And… I guess, it’s whatever _you_ want, now.” He offered, as softly as he could, making himself meet Tony’s eye – or trying to. Tony wouldn’t look at him, either. “If you want to talk about this, then I can do my best. And it can’t change my mind – it _can’t_ , I… it’s not even about changing my mind. Its about the situation, and there’s no changing that. And there’s probably things I can’t answer… but, if you want to talk about it, we can. And if you just want to… have a normal night, or leave it here, or… Just, whatever you want, okay?”

 

He left it a few seconds more – even though it was agony. The silence crowded around him, the pressure in his head building as every part of him urged him to _speak_ , to stop, to reach out… but he ignored it all. He went with what he’d _decided_ to do.

 

“Okay Steve.” Tony answered, in an unfamiliar voice… “In that case, this is what I’d like to do, okay? I’d like you to tell me the things you want to tell me, and explain the things you want to explain, and I promise, I’ll listen. And _then_ , I’d just like you to give me a minute to say a few things. I just want you to _listen_ , okay? And if you can’t answer, or it doesn’t change anything, then fine… but I’ll feel better knowing I tried. I won’t have to spend the rest of my life thinking, _I wish I’d said_.”

 

And suddenly Steve remembered,

 

_And if you were standing on a cliff edge, trying to convince me that we’d all be better off without you, I’d stop you from jumping._

 

And that _was_ the exact tone of voice Tony was using. Like he was frightened to say anything too loud or too fast, in case he startled Steve. And the thought of Tony trying so hard, so _emotionally_ to prevent this inevitability was unbearable… But Steve couldn’t deny him. So Steve just nodded sadly, _okay_ , and tried to think about what he _did_ want to explain, before he left.

 

Oh, there was so much of it he _couldn’t_ say.

 

“I feel like I’ve spent my whole life imagining what it would be like if you ever told me you loved me. I… I never thought I’d react like that, either. And I didn’t want to, it wasn’t… The thing is, Tony, you don’t know me to love me.” He saw the injured look that Tony gave him. But, as promised, Tony didn’t interrupt. “This _isn’t_ me – this isn’t _anyone_. Because… you know, in the last few days, we’ve fought. And I lost my temper, and I hurt you… that’s probably closer to the real me. Because, that’s what happens when I forget for a second that I’m not real and I can’t stay – when I start thinking about what I think or want or what _I’d_ do if… And, actually, what I’d think or want or do is usually all wrong, and…”

 

God, what _was_ he talking about?

 

“The point is” He centred himself again “I’m not actually good enough for you. I so want to be, and if I stop being me for a while and focus on that completely, maybe I can pretend I am for a few months… But if I stayed here, if I was just _me_ , I would end up hurting you – I _have_ hurt you, just by staying this long-”

“No-” But Tony bit his own answer back, with a little shake of his head. _Sorry, go on._

“… I’m _not_ some virtuous, unselfish hero, I’m not… Well, I’m not you. And I’ve never been like you, I’ve just always wanted to be. And I really did think that, maybe, if I just stopped being such a… maybe, I could make life better for you. And that’s all I wanted to do. Because I knew it was all I _could_ do, the best I could hope for now, the only thing that still mattered. And, honestly, even if there weren’t all these other reasons… well, if there weren’t all these other reasons, I probably would end up staying, because I _am_ selfish, and I want to so much… but I don’t think that would make life better for _you_. It never did, before…” Steve could see the way Tony was pinching his lips together, obviously _so_ desperate to answer that… but, still, he stayed quiet.

 

“And that was back when I was just _me_. Even as a normal human being, I just made you miserable, and now…” Steve exhaled, heavily “Look, I know I’m broken. And I even know you want to try to fix me, and I love you for that… but this isn’t something you fix, Tony. It’s… I’ve seen behind the curtain, for the whole of existence, I can’t… I can’t have a normal life with anyone. I can’t even tell you half of it, because if I do… well, I can’t tell you, can I, and who can put up with a life like that? And you deserve so much more than wasting your whole life on that. And… I know there is nothing more annoying that someone telling you its all going to be okay… but, I…” Steve dropped his shoulders, defeated. “I just want you to know, I’m not leaving because I don’t love you, or because I don’t care whether you love me… I’m leaving _because_ I love you…”

 

And then he caught Tony’s eye, and he waited. _Your turn._

 

“Okay… so, for one, I’m a little surprised you think _that’s_ why I love you.” Tony started, oh so carefully. “I knew you’d got it into your head that I wasn’t seeing the real you… but when you think I’ve seen some shiny, selfless hero is beyond me.”

“I just meant… the whole _Captain America_ thing…” Steve stuttered, torn between his promise not to interrupt, and needing to make clear that _he_ never thought he was some great hero…

“Yeah, am I supposed to have met him?” Tony enquired, raising his eyebrows. Steve just frowned. “I met _you_ , the day you punched Justin Hammer in the face, and then you took me back to a hotel room and said _let’s have sex_ instead of hello, and then you gave Nick a sassy little running commentary of events – and, to be honest, I did actually think you might be on drugs… And since then you’ve mostly been a sarcastic bastard. You choose daquiri’s rather than getting to work right away, you swear at Nick, you tell me I don’t owe charities my time – all of which I love, by the way. It’s just…” Tony sighed.

“Yeah – I don’t think all that is really me, either….” Steve thought aloud, somewhat thrown by the description Tony had just given… and Tony breathed another soft little laugh – sweeter, this time.

“Okay, Steve, consider – you started out by telling me that you aren’t really the great hero I must obviously have fallen in love with, you are in fact a bit of a bastard. And when I point out that… I know you’re a bit of a bastard, and actually I love that, you immediately start thinking that _that’s_ wrong, because that’s, what, _not_ who you really are after all?” Tony asked, nicely, and Steve opened his mouth to answer – but didn’t have one. “…and _this_ is what worries me. The way you bend the facts to fit the theory. The way you seem to get an idea in your head, and then decide what you think or what’s real or what’s right afterwards. This is why I’m telling you I love you in the first place. This isn’t really me asking you to stay with _me_ , it’s just… hearing you say you’re broken, and thinking that this life is what broke you, thinking about what you do when you leave… it kills me. And back when I really thought you _had_ to do it, it just hurt and what can you do? But… what if you’ve just decided you have to do it, and you’ll find a reason, whatever happens? The way you’ve obviously just _decided_ that I can’t love the real you – _before_ you know what I think the real you is. Before _you_ know who you are, maybe…”

“Tony-”

“No, hang on, Steve, it’s….” And Tony squeezed his eyes shut, self-consciously. And then he sighed. “I’ve been on the other side of this so many times. So many people telling me to stop what I’m doing, think before I act, I’m going to kill myself, I’m being destructive, I should eat, sleep, blah, blah, blah. And at the time, I always hate it, and I’m always sure the other person just doesn’t get it, and they’re just being interfering and judgemental and bossy. And when I look back on it… sometimes they’re right and sometimes they’re wrong. But the thing I worked out was, it’s not about what I’m _doing_. I think it’s about whether I was thinking straight when I did it. I think it’s… I don’t know, a capacity thing? Because, you know, objectively speaking, Iron Man is a ridiculous idea. Pepper was right, there is nothing sensible about being Iron Man. But I was thinking straight when I made that decision, whether it’s a mad decision or not, even if it didn’t make sense to anyone else – that was _my_ decision. But, the things I did right after my parents died? When I was yelling at Rhodey that it was my life and my liver and my money to spend on drugs if I wanted… I don’t think I can stand by those decisions. Those weren’t really _my_ decisions – I was just traumatised and sad and… And, like, when you turned up. The things I was thinking of doing, before you…” And Tony just gestured, shyly, to his chest “And then, suddenly I’m going to live, and I’m not interested in gate crashing a grand prix. But you’ll notice that Pepper _is_ still CEO of Stark Industries – I’d thought about that one. That one I meant. Test driving the new suit while drunk? Not so much…. And the point I’m getting at here is… are you sure you’ve made this decision?”

“Tony, you have no idea… If I _could_ stay-”

“No, Steve, that’s – you’re doing it, right now.” Tony sighed, a slight edge on his voice now. A hint of impatience, or his panic slipping though. “That’s… that’s what you were planning on saying _anyway_. That’s what you say about what you’re going to do anyway, its not really you thinking about anything I’ve just said…”

 

Oh, there was that walking-into-a-trap feeling again. Steve could feel his breathing getting shallow, and urged himself to calm down.

 

“All I want you to do is _think_ , for yourself, if you’re sure of all these things that mean you have to go, _apparently_.” Tony went on, when Steve couldn’t. “ _Why_ there can’t be two Steve Rogers’ in the same place, or if there is another answer to that. Why you can’t just stop in one place, what you’re going to do otherwise – if you really _have_ to. If… you’re really fundamentally changed now, or if you’re just traumatised and lonely. And if maybe I _could_ help you, or someone could – more than running away into the void, at least. If, maybe, when you’re traumatised, and lonely, you shouldn’t trust your gut – especially if you can’t _think_ of an answer to go with that feeling…”

 

Steve had told himself to expect this. While he was trying to prepare himself in case Tony yelled at him, or cried, or kissed him… he knew the most difficult scenario was also the most likely. And he’d _told_ himself not to get drawn into Tony’s questions, to not let himself be thrown by that specifically Stark take on the world, not to let himself be convinced… But, oh, he so wanted to let Tony rearrange the world for him now, to make everything comfortable and clear and possible again. Telling himself to expect it hadn’t made it any easier to resist. And he still _had_ to resist.

 

Steve felt that little prickle of frustrated desire, the urge to sulk.

 

“…Look, Tony, I’ve never said I understand the truth of the universe. I don’t know everything that’s meant to happen, and I don’t know what I think about everything… but there _are_ things I know. And maybe it _is_ just a regular human thing, I don’t know – does it matter? Does it matter whether the God of time told me this, or whether I just know…” And Steve pinched his lips together, frustrated. “See, this is what I mean – I _can’t_ explain why there are certain things I just can’t say, because once I’ve said them-”

 

“You mean if you tell me who I’m ‘supposed’ to marry, and that I’m going to have a kid one day, then what, that takes the romance out of it? That wasn’t how it happened the first time? That just kinda feels creepy?” Tony cut in, and Steve’s head snapped upright.

 

 _Too close_.

 

His aching sadness was immediately replaced with a primal fear – the same fear that he’d felt when he realised Korda had made him. The same instinct to cover himself, to remain calm, to pretend there was nothing for him to be worried about.

 

“And if that _was_ it – and I’m not saying it’s _anything_ , because there could be all sorts of…”

“Okay, does it help if I absolutely know that it’s Pepper?”

 

Steve’s mouth went dry. When he forced himself to speak, it was high and raspy.

“You don’t _know-_ ”

“Oh _please_ Steve – you go bright red every time she walks into the room.” Tony sighed, impatiently. “You jump a foot away from me, and you look at the floor, and you do everything but tell her you’re _sorry_ – and, by the way, whatever happens, never have an affair. You’d be _really_ bad at it.”

 

Steve was overwhelmed by shame. Shame that he’d been so easily caught out, shame at hearing Tony point out his borderline adulterous behaviour so bluntly – shame that, apparently, he’d already fucked up Tony’s relationship with Pepper, for all his efforts. And a visceral, desperate panic, because there was _nothing_ he could say to that. No way to know if he was about to make it worse, no way to work out _what_ Tony knew, and what he was about to tell him. No time to think about it.

 

And he opened his mouth, and there were no words.

 

“Look, I don’t know if you’re leaving because you don’t want to ruin this thing with Pepper, or if you don’t want to ruin this thing with Pepper because you know you have to leave anyway… But I really wish you could at least tell me which way around it is.” Tony went on “Because the more I listen to you talk about how you could never be good enough for me, whatever proof there is, the more I worry that it’s the first one. That the _only_ reason you’re leaving is because you’ve decided, just you as a person, that I’m better off without you – _and so you’re going to get stranded in time instead?_ If you’re scared about causing some time space paradox I can’t understand, then maybe – but it’s really not the right answer to that perfectly human dilemma, even if I _was_ meant to end up with Pepper. That still wouldn’t mean you had to do _this_.”

“This isn’t about me” Steve whispered.

“Of course it is!” Tony implored. “How is _this_ not about you? I’m asking you if we can _please_ have a conversation about you. I’m asking what _you_ want, what _you_ think, what _you_ really know-”

“And I’m trying to tell you, it doesn’t matter-”

“But it matters to _me_ , Steve. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I worked out, oh, two months ago, that in some parallel universe I married Pepper and was happy enough that you’re scared to ruin it for me. I’m _still_ standing here pleading with you to stay with me. What does that tell you?”

 

By now Steve’s ears were ringing. He barely even heard the question – he certainly wasn’t _listening._ He had no idea where his answer even came from.

 

“It tells me you aren’t thinking about your d- about your kid.”

“Because she _isn’t_ my kid.” Tony answered, more softly – but still Steve winced. It was so immediately horrible, to hear Tony talk about _Morgan_ like that. He felt obliged to stop Tony, for his own good. Out of respect to the Tony who _did_ love Morgan, who’d have hated _himself_ for ever saying that. And Tony didn’t know, and couldn’t know, and Steve had to stop him-

“Tony, _no._ ”

“ _Steve_ – look, you _do_ know that basically every woman who ever had an abortion would’ve loved the kid, if she’d been forced to have it?”

“Jesus, _what_?” Steve heard himself exclaim.

“What, you don’t think that’s true?”

“That’s not – I don’t – what the hell has that-”

“Okay, I’ll go you one better – you do know every woman who was ever saved from a forced marriage would probably have loved the kids she’d have had. Every rapist we ever took off of the streets _might_ have fathered the next Albert Einstein-”

“Tony, _stop_.” Steve begged. He took a painful, jagged breath “Did you just – you can’t compare your daughter to a _rape_. Jesus-”

“I _didn’t_.” Tony barked. “Actually, if you want to be that fucking literally about it, I compared my daughter to the Albert Einstein that might’ve been conceived-”

“So you’re comparing being with Pepper to-”

 

“Steve, you _aren’t_ _listening_ ” Tony interrupted at a near shout. “And you _are_ being too fucking literal… and, okay, maybe those were emotive examples…” There was a little flicker of distaste on his face, as he considered the true implications of everything he’d just said – but he swallowed it down. Whatever doubts Tony had right now, he was clearly in no doubt about pressing on with this. “But it’s the _principle_ I’m trying to get you to think about – and _only_ because it’s apparently that principle that’s forcing you to…” And he took a sharp breath, trying to calm himself “Look, I’m _just_ saying… Human beings want to love, and they want to be happy, and they make the best of things – _whatever_ happens. If a woman is forced to have a kid, she’ll probably love that kid – at the very least, you could never tell the _kid_ they weren’t meant to be born, could you? But that doesn’t make it the _only_ reality that was meant to be. It doesn’t mean she was _supposed_ to have that forced on her. It doesn’t make the life that she actually got to choose the _wrong_ life. It doesn’t make the different kids she went to have at a different time in a different life the _wrong_ kids, does it?” And Steve shot him a disapproving look, but Tony just carried on. “And I know these are really difficult, controversial issues – but that’s what you’re living, Steve. Those big, scary questions are the ones you’re living your life by – so you have to actually answer them. You _have_ to think about these things, because otherwise you’re just going with what you just kinda assume the answers are…”

 

“Tony, this isn’t one of your hypothetical philosophical conversations, okay? This isn’t-”

“Why, you don’t listen to those either.” Tony bit back, bitterly.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Or, I don’t know, maybe I’m just being too subtle. But… We have literally spent three months talking about this stuff – or _I_ have. And you’ve asked me all these questions about right and wrong and morality and reality, and _I_ was talking about where all these ideas come from-”

“Oh, is _that_ what that was?” And Steve didn’t know himself whether he was hurt or angry – he couldn’t tell from the tone he was using. “What, that was trying to get me to stay by stealth?”

 

Tony just recoiled from that, his lips parting in shock.

“ _No_ , Steve, that was me trying to help-”

“You seem pretty pissed that I wasn’t doing the same thing you were.” Steve bulldozered on. “Except you seem to think I should’ve _guessed_ that. Seriously, you’re annoyed at _me_ , because you think I should’ve been engaging in some therapy session on my state of mind – see, _I_ thought we were just chatting about philosophy. Because that’s what _you said we were doing._ ”

“But there isn’t a neat little line around everything like that!” Tony exclaimed “There is no portion of time in which we’re talking about philosophy, and a portion of time in which I love you and I care about you – and _yes_ , I did just want to talk about that stuff with you. But _I_ kinda thought you were at least thinking about it.”

“Oh, thinking about _what_?” Steve spat back.

“About whether there _is_ just one way to do things, whether the right answer might still feel wrong, whether your own perceptions can be faulty – we talked about all that, and I really thought you were listening, and sometimes it was like it made you feel better… and then it actually gets to doing something, and it’s like you don’t think that counts. Like all those ideas and insights are in this neat little box, and they’re not relevant now. But if they’re true, they’re true, right?”

“It’s not that simple-”

“No, Steve – the point is, it _is_ that complicated.” Tony corrected. “And I’m sorry it is, but it is – and its like you just keep thinking, no, that’s too complicated _I’ll make it simpler._ Like you don’t know what would happen if you stayed, so you’re leaving instead. And maybe that would be okay, if you didn’t then act like your version of events was sacred – I just, it’s…” Another slow breath. “I’m not saying _I_ know what life would be like with two of you here. I don’t know what will happen between us, or whether I would’ve been happier with Pepper, or, fuck it, if I’d stayed with Jacquie Ryan after college – but I’ve never thought I had to pick the _right_ timeline. _You_ don’t have to pick the ‘right’ outcome out of all those billions, you just have to try and do the right thing when it comes to it. Just like the rest of us. And that means thinking about this stuff, not just… Look, sometimes what you end up with doesn’t fit the labels you had. Sometimes you can’t work out what something’s going to look like – but you can’t just deny it exists-”

 

“And you don’t _know_ what exists!” Steve shouted. “And you don’t seem to realise – this _just talk to me_ thing, _that’s_ you making things too simple. That’s you just – okay, fine, you know you’re going to marry Pepper. So, you tell me – _can_ I come to you and say, hey Tony, I’m kind of anxious about how you’ll feel if I tell you you’re going to marry Pepper, what do you think?” And he shot Tony an accusatory glance. “Can I just _ask_ you, hey, do you think you’re real, as a human being? Do you think you’re better than another version of yourself, do you think it matters?”

 

And Steve had completely lost himself by now. He’d fallen into a space he hadn’t known existed; he didn’t know _where_ he was. Where any of this was coming from…

 

“Let me ask you this Tony – if you _knew_ how Rhodey was going to die, ten years from now, would you tell him?” He challenged. Part of him might’ve been pleased at the way Tony froze; just at the idea that _Tony_ was on the receiving end of one of these existential curveballs, for once.

“…But you _don’t_ know how I’m going to-”

“But in _principle_?” Steve sneered. “If you _did_ know, if there was _nothing_ you could do about it – would you tell him? Even if you aren’t _a time jedi_ , you’re just _you_ , with this inhuman knowledge, just _you,_ trying to work out whether its better to let him live his last days to the full or spare him all those years of hopelessness… And _when_ you decide, because of all these things you _know_ , that no, it wouldn’t be fair – you know Rhodey, you know it’ll destroy him, you’ve made that moral choice – _when_ you’ve done that, and you’re sad that your best friend is going to die, and Rhodey asks you what’s wrong, what then? _Can_ you just talk to him? _Is_ it that fucking simple?” And for a good few seconds Tony couldn’t answer. In the heat of the moment, it just felt like a victory.

“So, what, I run away from the situation? I leave him all alone, because that’s obviously better than having to deal with a relationship when you can’t share _everything_?”

“Because maybe it’s better than ruining everything, and destroying him, because _you_ wanted to be with him.” Steve replied, sharply.

 

“…But _is_ this that, Steve?” Tony asked – more soberly, more cautiously, but still. He was going on with this. “Because if I really thought it was that, I _would_ shut up. If I really thought it was something you _couldn’t_ say – _that’s_ why I didn’t push this, before now, in case it was something like that. But… I’m not asking you to answer _me_ Steve. I’m asking you to answer _you_. I’m just asking if you’ve really thought about this, if _you’re_ sure you can’t talk to me-”

“ _Of course I’ve thought about it!”_ Steve shouted. “This is _all_ I think about – Jesus Christ, you really think you can just sweep in and save me from all this by asking me to fucking _think about it_? What _do_ you think I’ve been doing since you died-”

 

 _Oh, no_.

 

 _Stop, stop, stop_.

 

“You _died_ , Tony.”

 

Why was he still talking? Where was this coming from?

 

“Steve-”

“No – Shut up.” Steve spat. “ _Don’t_ tell me you know. Don’t tell me anything. You don’t know – you don’t…”

 

And there it all was.

 

Suddenly he saw in all in the same horrible, vivid clarity that had kept him awake for weeks after it happened.

He _felt_ all the same impossible questions, about what the world looked like without Tony, and how it could ever stop hurting, and how he could possibly carry on.

He burned with the same injustice and desperation – _anything,_ to take it back, to make it so that hadn’t happened.

The same aching, endless love for a man who was gone forever.

The same bottomless regret.

All those things he wished he’d said…

 

He was immediately overwhelmed by grief, as shaken and shocked as he was at the time.

 

_Oh God Tony, my beautiful Tony._

 

 _His_ Tony.

 

…He _hadn’t_ thought about it. For all his angry proclamations, he hadn’t thought about any of this since he’d switched off completely – however long ago that was. And this was why. Because there was no dealing with this, no getting over this, no _coping_ with this. No making it better.

 

And the fact that _a_ Tony was standing right here as it all crashed over him at last only made it all more horrific-

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

“Just- Don’t. I … can’t -”

“Steve, _please_.” Tony begged, stepping into Steve and putting his hands on Steve’s arms. Steve wanted to recoil from it, he might’ve tried to pull away – but it was as though he’d just watched Tony _die_. He could still see Tony dying. He couldn’t think straight.

 

“I am so sorry for whatever you’ve been through, the things you’ve lost, I really am” Tony carried on, pleading now, trying to get Steve to look at him while Steve just tried to flinch away “And I’m _not_ saying I can make any of it all better, or even that I’d understand everything – but I do know what it’s like to lose someone you love, Steve. And, yeah, from that I know that the last thing you want to hear is _I know how you feel_. And I don’t, I know it’s not the same. But I know that, _sometimes_ , when you lose someone you love it can feel like the end of you, it can make everything seem senseless, it can stop you caring about anything and make you question everything, and sometimes it makes you do things you really wouldn’t have done. Things you didn’t have to do, or want to do – Steve, are you listening?”

 

And, no, Steve _wasn’t_ listening. Steve could still see another version of Tony, so clearly. That look of glorious defiance in his eyes as he lifted the gauntlet… That little flicker of furious _hurt_. That little part of Tony that didn’t want to die, couldn’t believe he had to die, the part of him that was tortured to have come so close and have so much snatched away, by this vile and insignificant creature. Steve could smell the ash and blood in the air, he could feel the tingle of residual electricity coursing through his arm, he could taste the bitter outrage, the _fear._

 

“And I don’t think hugging and talking this out is going to make it all better, and maybe there are things I can’t _fix_ – but wandering through time isn’t fixing it either, is it Steve? What you’ve been doing, what you’re talking about going back to – what if it’s driving you mad? What if you _could_ stay here, and what if that would just be okay, what if it would just be _better_.”

 

But Steve could just see the arc reactor, flickering. He could _see_ the life going out of Tony, he could see him dying, he could-

 

_Oh, please don’t take Tony_

_Anything but that-_

 

“What _if_ you did stay here? What if you were a part of this team, if you had a place to build a life – somewhere to be miserable and confused about all of this, at least. Someone you could talk to, even if it was only about some of it, even if it was just about philosophy and the fight for good and which celebrity Nick is most like… Even if there was a younger you here too, what then? This is me asking _you_ , Steve-”

 

But Steve was thinking about the moment he picked up Tony’s body… the fact that he’d just expected it to feel like Tony, to be the same as all those times he’d carried him to bed because he was drunk or concussed or fast asleep. The nauseating _shock_ of it, how cold his skin was, so quickly, how unnaturally heavy he felt. _Dead_.

 

 _Dead_.

 

“I would sit there and talk to you about whether I’m real. I would sit there and listen to how another Tony Stark died. I _want_ to, Steve, however uncomfortable it is, I want to help you. I love you. I’d do anything rather than lose you – there, I said it. I can’t think how _else_ to say it, I’ve never-”

“I _can’t-_ ” Steve hissed, finally managing to twist away from Tony. His lungs were contracting in on themselves, making every breath shorter and more painful. His heart was pounding and his hands were clammy and he _was_ going to be sick-

 

_Tony Stark is dead_

 

“ _I can’t do it again!”_ Steve shouted, throwing his arms out. “I can’t lose you again, I can’t watch it all again-”

“Then don’t leave!” Tony pleaded.

 

But everything was more immediate and corporal than that, now. Now, Steve was just trying not to fall down, trying not to be sick, trying not to see Tony’s pale, lifeless face… that final smile-

 

_Oh God_

 

“I just can’t.” Steve managed, already headed for the door. He heard Tony call after him, but he had no idea what he’d said. He was just _going_.

 

He was going.

 

He had to-

 

And then he felt Tony’s hand grab his wrist, his fingers gripping him as tightly as the armour ever had. And Steve was lost in the throes of panic by now, so focused on getting out of this situation, so thrown by the sudden change in physics – it was all adrenaline, now. It was all instinct.

 

Steve snapped back to face Tony in one primal motion. He felt his shoulder flex into position, the muscles in his arms tense-

 

And then he actually _saw_ Tony, and everything just stopped.

 

 _Oh my God, were you about to hit him_?

 

Well, push him, more likely… but still. Seeing Tony, looking up at him with such love and concern and hurt, as that physical aggression coursed up Steve’s back-

It was like being hit by a wall of water. Even the images of Tony’s death were temporarily washed away by the horror of what he might’ve done. If he’d even pushed Tony, in the state he was in now… God, he could’ve…

 

And then there was a different image in his head. Suddenly, Steve remembered Tony looking at him in that bunker in Siberia, heartbroken and furious…and still that little fragment of hope. Still the fear of what Steve would say when he asked, _did you know_? Steve _felt_ that moment, all over again. The way it dawned on him that he’d had everything wrong, that he was figuring it all out day too late. He’d been so reckless and short sighted and stupid, and if he could just go back to _any_ part of it, if he’d just thought…

 

He remembered the way Tony threw his hands over his face, as Steve brought his shield down into his chest.

 

He remembered the trembling, chilling embarrassment at himself, the desperation to run from it, the terrible realisation that it was going to follow him wherever he went.

 

How much he wished he hadn’t run. How much he wished he’d listened…

 

“ _This_ is not how a rational person leaves a situation Steve” Tony told him, his hand still wrapped tight around Steve’s wrist. “If I thought you’d _decided_ to go, I’d let you. However much it hurt me, however wrong I think it is, if _you_ think it’s right, if you _really_ think that… but I can’t let you go like this Steve. I do love you, and I’ll _never_ just stand there and watch you get hurt. I…”

 

Tony slowed to a hesitant stop. Maybe he was picking up on the change in Steve. The fact that his arm had fallen limp in Tony’s grip, the fact that he wasn’t trying to pull away anymore. Even though there were still all these horrible pictures in his head, even though he was still angry and confused and frightened, even though, really, he still wanted to run…

 

Now, there was something else there too. Something much deeper, much more personal. Questions in his own voice, things he remembered from _so_ long ago. A different life, a different him, speaking to him from a different understanding of time entirely.

 

_I wish I hadn’t run away from him_

_I wish I’d stopped to think, however panicked I was_

_I wish I’d just told Tony what was going on._

Jesus, he’d _sworn_ he wouldn’t get caught up like this, that he wouldn’t get drawn in…

 

… _Did_ that just mean he’d come here determined not to listen?

 

… _Was_ this what he always did? Was this just another time he’d let his fear and his confusion and his commitment to the wrong idea cloud his judgement? Was he right in the middle of making the same mistake _again_ , was he going to end up on the other side of this, asking himself why he didn’t speak, why he didn’t listen…

Or was _this_ exactly what he’d promised himself wouldn’t happen, when he came down to have this conversation?

 

“You are a person Steve.” Tony told him, the threat of tears in his voice now “You have as much right to be happy as anyone, and you don’t _have_ to be better than anyone, and it’s not all up to you to make everything right. And you’re _just_ a person, just a man who got shown these impossible things, and went through… I can’t imagine, and you’re trying to deal with it. But the ideas of one man who is just trying to deal with it are no more important than anyone elses, right?” And Tony’s fingers flexed against Steve’s skin, his forehead creased in determination “So, as a man, who has been shown all this about time travel, and told all this about alternate realities and the nature of the universe, this is what _I_ know. You don’t _have_ to leave, Steve. I’m telling you that. You don’t _have_ to…”

 

And Steve was so confused and conflicted by now, he had no idea _what_ he was going to say when he opened his mouth. There were no words in his head, no control of the process. And then he heard himself talking.

“I don’t want to go, I just… I don’t _know_ what I think anymore, I _don’t_ know why I’m leaving, or what I was thinking when I came here, or what the point of anything is, I just…I need help.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, it’s going to be okay” Tony soothed, as he took a step forward and put his arms around Steve. And Steve just pulled Tony into him, holding him tight against his chest, burying his head in Tony’s neck. God Steve had missed him. It already felt like a lifetime since he’d held him, it immediately felt impossible that he could have gone without him, even for a day. And he was just so glad he hadn’t done something terrible, that this time he’d stopped before he did something he couldn’t take back… “I will help you, if you’ll let me, and I know it won’t be easy, but I want to, I promise, I’ll help you…”

“Oh God Tony, there’s just so much…”

 

And with that, something inside Steve broke. All the walls in his head crumbled at once, everything he’d buried was right there at the surface, in the same general chaos as everything else. There was no order and no meaning – and no stopping himself speaking. No real recognition that he _was_ speaking, no concept of the consequences, no understanding of inside and outside of his head.

 

“I just _left_ everyone, Tony, I just left Sam, and Bucky and everyone there, and I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t go back. And I kept thinking, if I just went back to a _few weeks_ earlier, would it be so different if I just stopped you from dying – would that still leave a Sam and a Bucky who never knew what happened to me? But I _can’t_ go back there, because you _died_. And it was brutal, and so unfair, and God it had all gone so wrong by then anyway, it was all such a waste. And I hate that I’m so sad about it, because I loved everyone so much, I _wanted_ that to be my home. I don’t _want_ to just be able to make a perfect little life somewhere else now because I can cheat with time travel. If I do that, then the place that felt so special is just a dummy run and it wasn’t even that good – but it really was, and I did love you so much, and… God, if I love _you_ more, what does that even mean? And – what does any of it mean? If I can just leave one timeline and step into another, then none of it matters, and if this world matters, then so did the one I left, so I should go back. Or I should go back to the forties, because I promised _them_ I was their friend, once – and if I do that, I’ll take a future from all of them that I know happened, kids I knew Peggy had, the way things worked out for your dad… But, if I could jump forward another seventy years, another seven hundred years, a life without me already happened for Bucky, and Sam…I don’t know _who_ I am, Tony. I’m not Captain America, and I don’t know whoever you’re talking about, and I don’t know _why_ you love me – but you don’t know what I did to you.”

 

He felt Tony pull him closer, his fingertips digging into Steve’s shoulders in a silence reassurance. And Steve just felt like he didn’t deserve it.

 

“You wouldn’t love me, if you could see what I did, and how can I be with you, when it can never be fair? When I’ve tricked you into it, because I’ve just… wiped your memory? Or, if I haven’t, and you’re a whole different person… then I just forgot him, and found someone better, and I hate myself for that. I hate myself for Pepper, and for a child you’ll probably never know now, because I’ve already fucked it up – and I just can’t help but fuck it up, and I swear, I just wanted you to be happy, and here I am telling _you_ that nothing matters. And I don’t want _you_ to have to worry about all the millions of timelines where you lose, like I do, or to have to think that all the people you love are out there a hundred thousand times – and they’re _different_. To have you worry about what makes you _you_ , what makes the people you love the people they are, and what it means to love someone unconditionally, if really you’re loving someone else… and there _is_ nowhere I can go now, because if I go back to where I came from, you won’t be there. If I stay here, it’ll always be unfair, I’ll have always met you before you met me, there just, there _is_ no answer”

 

Steve cut himself off with a shuddering breath he hadn’t expected, realising too late how desperate he was for air. He was momentarily overwhelmed by the rush of oxygen, the physical dizziness mixing in with his emotional turmoil. The rest of the room went out of focus for a second – there was just the shape of Tony pressed against his chest. The familiar warmth and weight of him, the smell of his hair, the sound of him breathing… it felt comforting, and safe, and… real. A rock to cling to in this storm, something to focus on when everything else fell to pieces. The part of Steve that knew – even when it made no sense – that it was okay, because Tony was here.

 

“There are fourteen _million_ six hundred and five possible outcomes to that battle with Thanos, and we lost all but one of them” Steve whispered “And I don’t even know _why_ that scares me so much…but, just thinking about it makes me… and I never wanted to make you think…”

 

And Tony finally lifted his head, his eyes warm and kind, and said,

“Well, for a start, that’s just _wrong_.”

 

“What is?” Steve frowned.

“…there would be _way_ more than fourteen million possible outcomes to a battle. That’s a matter of mathematical fact. Fourteen _trillion_ … probably still not enough.” Tony told him, like it was a side note. An interesting observation or his, rather than a statement of reality altering significance.

“…how do you know that?” Steve asked, his voice louder now. He suddenly felt far more focussed.

“…okay, so there were at least ten people there, right? For you to call it a battle?”

“Hundreds” Steve told him, efficiently, and he saw Tony actually hold back a laugh.

“Um, okay, well if you flip a _coin_ a hundred times, there are about thirty million possible outcomes. You can prove that one. Hundreds of people on a battle field would have hundreds of choices, and all of those choices would lead to other choices being available, and some of those choices would be affected by the choices other people had made – not to mention environmental factors… I’m just saying, there would _definitely_ be more than fourteen million… there are _literally_ more than fourteen million potential outcomes to a rock, paper, scissors tournament, with that many people…”

“So why would he say that?” Steve demanded, even though Tony didn’t know what he was talking about – and Tony didn’t miss a beat.

“Because he saw fourteen million outcomes, and therefore assumed he’d seen all of them?” He suggested, gently “Or, because the odds of us winning were actually fourteen million to one… which would still be thousands of outcomes where we won… hundreds of thousands… _Or_ , because he’s grouping lots of similar outcomes together, or because he was talking about the potential outcomes of one individual choice, or because he was lying… I don’t know who we’re talking about, or what he said, or when…” and he made Steve meet his eye. “But if you _could_ tell me…”

 

Everything was very quiet, now. All the noise and confusion and panic was paused, replaced with an eerie, out-of-body _awareness_. And Steve didn’t know whether this was all because of what Tony had just said, or the delayed response to everything Tony _had_ been saying, or maybe he was just in the middle of a total mental break… but, suddenly, he _felt_ like a man standing on a ledge – and he didn’t know what he was doing here. He didn’t want to jump, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t really believe any of the toxic thoughts that had driven him here… he could barely remember what they were…

 

Oh, God, he _was_ doing it again.

 

He _was_ being stubborn, and short sighted, and… _ridiculous_. He _had_ just decided on an ideology – he’d just _decided_ that he couldn’t tell Tony. After _all those times_ he’d told himself, _you should have just talked to Tony_ , all those times he’d berated himself for getting carried away and not being honest with himself and not stopping to think – he’d done it _again._ He’d just convinced himself that he had to leave, he’d pretended he wasn’t scared or lonely or human and still acted like he was, he’d-

 

He’d not done it yet.

 

Oh, sweet merciful God – he’d not actually done it yet. He hadn’t left yet. He hadn’t even ruined everything yet, he was sure he hadn’t, he was sure he hadn’t said anything he couldn’t take back. There was still a chance-

 

“I’m _not_ scared by you telling me any of this, Steve – although I love you for thinking of that.” Tony told him “But, really, you don’t have to worry. The enormity of the universe doesn’t scare me. The mystery of human nature doesn’t scare me. _All_ that scares me, right now, is the idea of you getting freaked out, and just _leaping_ into the abyss… and getting lost there. I’m scared that if you can’t stay here, you won’t stay anywhere, and you’ll never answer any of these questions, and you’ll just think that nothing means anything until…” And he stroked his hand up along Steve’s back, until it rested on the back of his neck. “That is all I’m scared of, right now. Please, just don’t go _tomorrow._ Please just… think, before you-”

 

“Okay.” Steve promised. And Tony just stopped. He could hear that Steve meant it.

 

“…Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve nodded, his head still swimming… he was thinking maybe the _mental break_ thing made the most sense, at this stage. “Tony, I’m sorry, I know I’m a mess-”

“No you’re not” Tony soothed, protectively. “You are just extra-ordinary, and you’ve been through some impossible shit, that’s all. And maybe this is what that looks like, at this stage – its okay. _You_ are spectacular, and its always the most incredible things that take the most working out, but it doesn’t mean you’re broken Steve, or that you’re doing it wrong, or that it’s _you_ that’s messed up. Honestly.”

 

And suddenly Steve was just so _tired._ Immediately physically and mentally exhausted. His limbs felt heavy, his head felt dry, he just wanted to close his eyes. He just wanted to collapse into Tony and the sweet voice he was using…

 

_Oh, I haven’t left yet._

 

The relief of it was overwhelming. The scale of this enlightenment, just how much made sense to him now…

 

“Steve?” Tony asked, cupping the side of his face. It was an effort for Steve to force his eyes open.

“Hm?”

“Come on, come with me.” And Tony spoke so authoritatively, and took control of everything so effortlessly… and God that was nice. Steve had _never_ felt that, in all the years he’d been alive. There had never been anyone who could have intervened like this, _no, stop. I am going to take care of you. _Steve gave into it completely – he liked giving into it. He let Tony take his hand and lead him upstairs, he just followed Tony into his bedroom because that’s where Tony was taking them. And for those few moments he just knew everything was okay, that he was safe and he could rest, because Tony was in charge now, and Tony said everything was okay…

 

He was barely aware of anything after that. He remembered lifting his arms, so that Tony could help him out of his shirt. He remembered Tony taking his socks off. He remembered Tony handing him a glass of water, telling him, _drink_. He remembered lying down on Tony’s bed, and feeling like he was still falling, sinking through it… but it was alright. Because Tony was right there, kissing his forehead and stroking his hair and telling him that he loved him, and everything was going to be okay – and Steve believed him. He had no idea what was going on anymore, or what he was doing, or where he was… but Tony was here, and Tony said it was okay, and that was all that mattered.

 

He could sleep…


	14. Breaking Through

Steve woke up, abruptly, just a few hours later.

 

It took him a couple of seconds to make sense of his surroundings. To work out why he’d just be lying on Tony’s bed like this, why Tony would be lying there next to him, fully clothed, scrolling idly on his phone…like he was waiting… The light in the room was dim, and the sky outside was dark, and Steve couldn’t tell whether it was still early evening, or the middle of the night, or just before dawn.

 

And then he _sort of_ remembered what had happened.

 

Sort of, because there were gaps in his recollection of events, and because the bits he _did_ remember seemed strange, and distant, and like they were happening to somebody else. It had been a long time since Steve had woken up with a hangover, but suddenly he remembered exactly what it felt like. This moment had the same remorse and anxiety as waking up after drinking too much, the same fear of the things he couldn’t recall, the same confusion at his own behaviour…

 

The same embarrassment.

 

And when Tony recognised that Steve was awake, and glanced over, and caught Steve’s eye like a trap… the shame in him was overwhelming. It burned his skin.

 

“I’m sorry…” He whispered. He felt very small, and vulnerable, and kind of dirty. But Tony just looked at him with such affection, such genuine concern…

“Why are you sorry?” Tony asked, putting his phone down on the side table and rolling over to face Steve. And Steve felt a blush run up his neck like a rash, and an immediate dip in his gut. He was so embarrassed that he didn’t want to talk about why he was embarrassed…

“Did I fall asleep?” He frowned, because, of everything, it was the easiest to deal with.

“Well, passed out, maybe” Tony smiled, kindly, and still Steve felt his stomach clench.

“Sorry…” He said again, aghast at himself – at a loss as to how he could explain or apologise for behaviour he couldn’t empathise with. Tony just carried on smiling.

“When _did_ you last sleep, Steve? Before just then?” He enquired. “I know you didn’t sleep last night… did you sleep the night before that? I know you were awake when I finally fell asleep…”

“I don’t know” Steve murmured, simply unable to find his voice.

“So why are you sorry you were exhausted just then?” Tony went on, knowingly. He left it a few seconds, but Steve couldn’t answer him. Then Tony took a little breath, and placed a gentle hand on Steve’s ribs, and told him,

 

“You know, there is a difference between something that makes you feel embarrassed, and something actually being embarrassing. Like there is a difference between something that pisses you off, and something that’s actually annoying. Or something that makes you feel good, and something that really is good…”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked – because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I _mean_ … If you ask someone out, and they turn you down, you _might_ be embarrassed or hurt or whatever, but they haven’t actually done anything wrong. Just because you’re hurt, doesn’t mean they did anything hurtful. And if someone gets a job you really wanted, you might be angry and jealous and maybe that’s natural or whatever – but that person didn’t do you any injustice, just because you feel that way. And two men might feel ashamed to hold hands in public, because society has told them to be, and a teenage girl might be ashamed of her body because she got told to be, and someone might be ashamed of being exhausted and emotional for any number of reasons… but does that mean they really did anything shameful…?” And Tony paused, before he asked “I mean, do you actually think you did anything wrong just now, or do you just _feel_ embarrassed?”

“I don’t know…” Steve admitted. He still didn’t really want to think about it… although, there _was_ something compelling in everything Tony had just said, in spite of everything….

 

“You know… When I first started thinking, hypothetically, about what it would be like if you stayed, I did think, well, it would be really weird to be anywhere that _no one_ knew you from before you were forty, or however old you are now… And _then_ I thought, well, he came here from a place where no one knew him before he was twenty-seven, like that made it okay…” Tony cringed at his own short sightedness. “And then I thought… well, _remembered_ really…”

 

And there was a little flicker of something deeper in Tony’s eyes before he met Steve’s gaze again.

 

“Because, when there are people who’ve known you since you were a dumb kid, there are always people you can lose your temper in front of, and cry in front of, and say things you don’t mean in front of – because those people know who you are anyway.” Tony explained. “You don’t ruin their impression of you, because they’ve already seen it all. And, when you can scream and stress and have off days in front of _those_ people, then you don’t have to do it in front of the others – because it’s different with the others. The public, and the work friends, and the people you just met. You know if you lose your temper in front of those people, they’ll just think _that’s_ who you are. If you cry at work, that’ll always be part of your reputation, none of those people will care enough to put it in context. You have to think about how you look to those people, because how you look to them is all you are to them… and I _did_ think, before… it must be hard to come into a world and have to think about how you look, all the time, because that’ll be who you are. Or, to never be vulnerable, because you don’t know that person, and you don’t know what they’ll think about it or how they’ll react or if they’ll ever let it go or see past it…” Tony breathed, softly, and gave Steve’s side a little squeeze “But, if you’re worried about what I think any of it means, or what I think it says about you… I know it doesn’t. I don’t know – you’ve seen me when I was a dumb kid, apparently. You might even have seen some of the meltdowns I’ve had at Pepper and Happy and Rhodey… So, you know, I get it.”

 

Steve actually felt a little bit breathless. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything he related to as strongly as that in all his life. Tony had just reached in and found something far deeper, much more fundamental, than anything they’d ever talked about before. The reason ‘Captain America’ had been such a crutch, and such a restriction, the words for all the expectation he’d felt, the reason he’d kept so many things from Tony and why Bucky had been so important the first time around… It wasn’t until he heard Tony say it all that Steve realised… he’d been waiting fifteen years for someone to get _that_.

 

“How do you know that?” He breathed, even his curling embarrassment momentarily forgotten “When did you – how did you work that out?” _Did you always know all that? Did he know all that?_ And now Tony blushed, and dropped his eyes self-consciously.

“So, okay, I’m asking you to talk to me about all this difficult stuff and that’s hard, and you have to trust me, so… quit pro quo…” Tony answered quietly, and then made himself look at Steve again. “Would you like me to show you something I have never shown to anyone? And… to try and explain something I have never talked to _anyone_ about, that _is_ kind of hard, and kind of complicated, but I think it’s relevant, and… since I’m asking you to…” A brave little swallow, and a steadying breath. “Because I’d like to.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve nodded, vigorously, _of course_. And Tony smiled, and nodded back, and sat up.

“Come on then.”

 

*

 

Steve had followed Tony as far as the living room when he saw Clint, walking towards them with an air of intention – and he remembered that a whole world existed outside of his current crisis. He felt a little flutter of panic as he recognised, he had no idea how to deal with ordinary people at the moment, he didn’t know if he had the time or the capacity to work it out-

 

“Hey, do we have an update?” Tony asked, stepping in front of Steve and pointedly catching Clint’s eye, _no, talk to me_. And he was calm, and conversational… but still there was an authority in his tone, and he hadn’t paused to glance at Steve, or ask for any sort of permission before he took charge of this thing. Steve felt the same rush of protection as he had a few hours earlier, the strange freedom of relinquishing control, the same thrill of the novelty of this intervention.

 

_No, I am going to take care of you now. _

 

And somehow it didn’t seem like such a huge dereliction of duty on Steve’s part to stand back, and let someone else listen to all of Bucky’s latest medical statistics, to let Tony weigh up the latest information, to trust his conclusion that, okay, there was nothing they had to do but monitor Bucky, until tomorrow at least…

 

Steve knew, this would have seemed like _such_ a big deal, yesterday. He knew the guilt he would have felt, to have given up responsibility of the situation so knowingly, to have just relinquished his role as leader and place as the final authority. There was definitely a time when Steve thought, when he just _knew_ , that this wasn’t how he should be… And all he could think now was – would it have been this easy? Was everything really this simple, after all? If he _had_ just let Tony in, if he’d let someone else help, even once…

 

“And are you two okay?” Clint asked, a deliberate lightness in his tone, as he finished reading from the tablet computer and tucked it under his arm. And Steve didn’t even look for an answer. He knew, by now, that someone else had this one. God, how long had it been, since he’d felt confident of that?

“Exhausted.” Tony replied for the both of them. “Neither of us slept last night. Once I’ve run everything, unless something unexpected happens with Bucky, I’m really looking forward to sleeping until noon tomorrow.” And, Jesus, Steve would never have just told Clint not to bother him like that – not unless he was doing it for Tony, or Bucky, then he might’ve shouldered his anxiety along with everything he’d labelled ‘a sacrifice for someone he loved’.  But just because _he_ was tired? He wouldn’t even have acknowledged that he’d _like_ to say that. Left to his own devices, Steve would’ve been looking for the offers he could be making, the other ways he could help… and yet, letting Tony say this for him didn’t feel bad. And, when _Tony_ said it, nothing bad happened. Clint just nodded, _fair enough_. And Steve just felt relieved, that he didn’t have to work right now, and he didn’t have to worry who was offended, and it wasn’t even him that had said it anyway…

 

This was nice.

 

Steve let Tony lead them back to down his workshop, right through to an empty space at the back of the room. Then Tony pulled a futon out from underneath one of his many abandoned desks, and unfolded it on the empty patch of floor, and gestured to Steve, _lie down then._ So, Steve did.

 

The ceiling above him was plastered smooth, and painted black. Steve let his eyes lose focus for a moment, as Tony settled himself next to him.

“It turned out that working on this standing up just leaves you with a crick in your neck, so…” Tony muttered, by way of explanation. And then he glanced over, _ready_? Steve nodded. And Tony took a sweet little intake of breath, _okay then_.

 

With a wave of Tony’s hand, the air above them splintered into a thousand glowing orange lines, an ever-increasing spiral of interlocking patterns… Steve recognised it before he found the word for it.

 

“JARVIS.” He smiled, watching the lights settle into a perfect, circular form. Tony raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised.

“You’ve seen this?” He asked. And Steve remembered _why_ he’d seen JARVIS like this… ULTRON, and Sokovia, and Vision… all the things he’d never told Tony, that he’d only part explained in a letter. All the things at the root of his earlier meltdown. He felt that anxiety stir again.

“Yeah…” He answered, quietly, swallowing a bitter taste.

“Bet I didn’t tell you how I made him, though.” Tony sighed, an edge of hesitancy now. “I bet I never explained what any of this _is_ , did I?”

“No…” Steve shook is head. Because, of course, none of that had been relevant, at the time….

“No. Even though, really, I know you were still _you_ … I know I never explained this to Pepper, either, however it worked out between us in another reality… because _this_ isn’t about how much I love you, or who you are as a person. I’m showing you this, now, because now you’ve been travelling through time. You, right now, have all these big, scary questions in your head, about what things mean… And I wouldn’t want to show you this otherwise. That’s how I know I’ve not already shown you this, or anyone else, I know that it’d have to be a very specific set of circumstances… but…”

 

Tony gave a choreographed little wave, and a narrow little section of JARVIS lit up brighter, leaping out from the rest of him.

 

“So, _that’s_ how JARVIS started, when I was what…twenty? Not long before my parents died – but it _was_ before my parents died, because, before that, it was a whole different thing… _originally_ , I just thought I could make a natural language UI, the best voice-controlled computer system ever… And all JARVIS had to do, to be _that_ , was understand and follow basic commands. A step up on DUM-E really, that was all… but _then_ …” And Tony bit his lip, and for the first time Steve recognised just how important and personal this was… “At some point after my parents died… I don’t know exactly when it became something else… But at some point, I stopped upgrading that idea and started thinking about another one. How I could make JARVIS _think_ , and learn and feel and respond… how I could make him be _alive_.”

 

Tony waved his hand again, a subtly different gesture, and a slightly larger section of JARVIS lit up.

 

“I had to start reading up about how a human brain works, and how it _learns_ , and how it reacts, and that all felt pretty heavy… I had to think about what it meant to be alive, and human, if there was such a thing as a soul… even, like, what it would mean if I managed it, if I really _had_ created life…” Tony let go of a breath, like he’d been carrying a heavy weight. “It wasn’t until years of this… probably when I was about twenty-seven, twenty-eight, that it really started to get to me. Because, by then, I had to get really honest with myself. I had to think about the way _he_ saw things, and why it was different to how _I_ saw things, and…” And Tony drifted into the inside of his own head, for a moment.

“And..?” Steve prompted, fully invested in everything Tony was saying now. And Tony smiled to himself before he answered, like he was about to take a leap.

 

“And, part of what I worked out was that… everything we see is wrong.” Tony sighed. “Our brains create… _brands_ , for everything. The way we create a ‘brand identify’ for a product is exactly the same as the way we think about everything – countries, political parties, religions, words, people. Everything. You say _doctor,_ or _ale_ , or _Italian American_ , and before you can stop yourself, all these images and feelings and associations are just _there_. We create shortcuts, because we have to, because we just can’t process all the information there is in every situation – and that would be fine. Except… the way we _make_ those short cuts is all wrong.” And Tony seemed to settle into his theme a bit, his awkwardness loosening just slightly.  

 

“For a start, we base our expectations on the bits we remember, obviously, not the bits we forget – but the bits we remember are by definition the extraordinary, unusual bits.” Tony explained. “Like, if you’re used to only seeing white news anchors, and then the network hires three black reporters, immediately the population registers that as an _invasion_ , they all think just how many black people there are on the news all of a sudden – because the tiny minority of black people are the bit they notice, the bit that takes up the majority of their attention. _And_ , if you ever have a meltdown at work, the human brain doesn’t register that it was about fifteen minutes total of ten years you’ve calmly been there – it’s so unusual an occurrence that everyone remembers it, and when it comes time to think of what sort of person you are, there it is. They think, on the one hand, there was ten years of calm work, but on the other, there was this one time… like both things have equal value, or even the meltdown has more value, because it gets more attention.”

 

“ _And_ , more than that…” Tony carried on, almost to himself now. “It’s all based on what people _feel_ , and not what people _think_ , anyway… Like, you never see gay men on TV, except as tragic figures or sexual deviants or shocking plot twists – so, if you ever see two men kiss in public, its kind of shocking. It makes people _feel_ uncomfortable, because they aren’t used to it, and it _seems_ inherently sexual, because usually they only see two men express affection in sexual situations… so, if you ask those people, they’ll _really_ mean it when they say, it’s nothing to do with their gender, it’s just because they were behaving inappropriately, I’d have said the same about a straight couple… they _believe_ that, they _know_ that - even though it isn’t true. They don’t _see_ the straight couple that have been making out at the bus stop the whole time they’ve been talking, because they’re used to that – it doesn’t make them _feel_ anything. And they really don’t know that they judge people unfairly, because those people make them _feel_ intimidated, or jealous, or confused – they don’t stop to wonder _why_ they feel like that around that person, if it really is that persons fault…”

 

“ _And then_ , on top of that, people make all their rules and their truths up of what they know – they never stop and think there might be things they don’t know. If you present people with three pieces of evidence on a crime, they’ll just judge them, they’ll defend their conclusion because _the evidence_ backed it up – no one ever asks if it is _the_ evidence, or just some of the evidence. No one ever thinks of the details they just don’t have. If someone see’s fourteen million six hundred outcomes, they just look at them, they don’t stop to ask themselves if there were others they didn’t see… maybe. They say things like, well, I’ve never seen Billy behave inappropriately in the office, even in ten years – that’s a piece of evidence that he’s innocent of this sexual harassment allegation… they never think, I’ve only ever seen Billy in the office, I have no idea how he behaves in any other situation, or in front of anyone else, one way or the other – what I actually have here is a meaningless observation of _my_ interactions with Billy, which is actually not evidence of anything, one way or the other…” And by then Tony was getting quite carried away with his argument, even annoyed at the injustices he was talking about… and then he looked at Steve, and remembered he was there, and centred himself again with a shy smile.

 

“I haven’t done this in a very long time” Tony admitted “All these little hypothetical social situations – Billy and Mavis. The hypothetical people were usually Billy and Mavis, for some reason.” And he breathed a little laugh at himself, the blush deepening as he carried on. “But there was a time, a good few years there, where I thought about this stuff all the time. All these what if’s, and why do we’s and does that means… and, the shorter version of this story is, it did send me mad. And I don’t mean that in the make-light-of-mental-illness way people say that, I don’t mean… _I mean_ , I really was in a very bad way, in a lot of ways, for a while there.”  

 

“For a start – and I do mean right at the beginning of this – it became very obvious that I was way more racist, and sexist, and homophobic than I’d ever thought I was, and so were basically all the people I loved and looked up to. And that so much of what I’d assumed was not only wrong but also kinda nasty, when you had to break it down… And there was so much of it, when I had to break it down, to teach it to an AI – when I had to explain that I knew a person would be a certain way because of their clothes, or their accent, or their parents… and then JARVIS would pipe in _but what about this other person,_ or _what about when you did that_ … Because JARVIS didn’t share any of these shortcuts when I made him. There was no, _you know what I mean_ , wink, wink at JARVIS. And he didn’t understand social nuance when I made him, so when he was in learning mode, he wasn’t programmed to consider my feelings. He just flat out asked, so, why isn’t that sexism? That was the _start_. That made me anxious, and I constantly felt bad about myself, like everything I thought was a fuck up…”

 

“And _then_ I started seeing these things everywhere” Tony made himself go on. “I _had_ to look for them everywhere, because I had to _code_ all these invisible little interactions for JARVIS… and suddenly, I wanted to explain everyone’s reasoning to them, and I felt terrible about that, because I knew I _was_ them a few months ago – which made me feel even _worse_ about myself. And I got more angry at the assumptions people made about me, because I could just see where it was all coming from now. And I kept thinking back to all these things that’d already happened, the way my dad was with me, all the insults people had thrown at me that I’d just accepted at the time, that I’d thought were probably fair until I had to break them down and explain them… so I was angry all the time. But even that wasn’t the worst bit.”

 

“The _worst_ bit was that, suddenly, I became really _good_ at it.” Tony spoke as though the words tasted bad. “After I spent enough time working out what people really react to – and that it wasn’t what they thought it was, or what I’d thought it was – when I had coded what all these shortcuts really were… well, I was the best personal brand manager on earth. Now, after enough million simulations and a lot of drunken, weeping philosophising, I had worked out all the little things to say and do to make people jump to certain conclusions, and think what I wanted them to, and even do what I said… And, you know, that was just _awful_ …” And he looked at Steve then with imploring eyes, _you understand why that’s awful, right_? And Steve just nodded, because, yeah, he _absolutely_ understood all of this.

 

In fact, now that Tony had flipped everything around, Steve saw just how much he understood – and he saw it differently. Now that they were talking about _Tony_ , now that it was someone else trying to describe an existential crisis and an inhuman knowledge and a philosophical breakdown – _now_ , Steve just wanted to reach out and tell Tony, _I get it_.

 

_I know how small you feel in the face of questions this huge, I know it’s frightening in a completely different way to everything else._

_I know what I’ve been through isn’t the same – but I do understand. _

_I even know what it’s like to think that no one will understand…_

_…But if you’d talk to me…_

It began to dawn on Steve, slowly.

 

“And _then_ – and then…” Tony drew himself up to a dramatic finish. “Then I took JARVIS out of learning mode. Then I decided that I had taught him everything I could… that I had basically programmed _myself_ into a… _a_ concept, at that stage… and then I had to let go and watch him _run_. In order to really be alive, JARVIS had to stop learning from me, and start learning for himself… according to all those rules and prejudices I’d given him, sure, but still… eventually, I had to do _this_ …”

 

And with a final wave of his hand, the image above his head began to _grow_. The tiny spindles of light branched out with amazing speed, like watching something shatter. Sparks ran into flashes, cobwebs of code began to interlock and weave and thicken, and then retreat as the simulation required more room… And, although Steve didn’t understand the process he was watching, he felt as though he understood the meaning. It _was_ dizzying, just the rate of duplication, the idea of ever-increasing scale like that…

 

“And I watched this, at first, thinking… is that _me_ I’m watching?” Tony asked, looking up past the lights in front of him, beyond the black painted ceiling and to somewhere else entirely… “Or another version of me, my own mind reorganised into something else, or have I created something else… that, there, is that it learning to understand pain, does it _feel_ pain, can it ever be alive if it doesn’t understand the nasty elements of human nature – and, really, what does _that_ say, on a philosophical level…”

 

“So how did you deal with all of this?” Steve asked, softly. And there was another self conscious little laugh from Tony.

“Well, it helped a hell of a lot that I had Rhodey. If there hadn’t been someone I could vent at, or be ridiculous in front of, I don’t know… maybe I wouldn’t have made it out of that one. I really don’t know _what_ I would’ve…” Tony frowned, and then shook the thought away. “But, honestly, the thing that ended all of that, as opposed to getting me through it… Really, I just did what you’re doing. I put a line around it in my head, and I told myself there _was_ no dealing with it, and I would just have to do what I _had_ been doing, and what everyone else was doing.”

 

And this time, when Tony looked at him, Steve felt no shame. He didn’t feel the same naked vulnerability he usually did, when Tony told him what he was thinking, he didn’t worry about how any of that sounded. Maybe it was just because he still wanted _Tony_ not to be embarrassed, because he was empathising with the situation for someone he loved, at the same time as he judged himself. Or maybe it was because Steve had finally recognised that Tony wasn’t reading his mind, that Steve hadn’t given himself away or let too much slip… Tony had just been there. Tony _understood_ …

 

“I did just, stubbornly decided to keep doing what everyone did, what I’d always done” Tony carried on “I sort of accepted that I’d made the Tony Stark brand a bit too deliberately, but I oh well’ed it, what else can you do… and I stuck with it, was the point. I decided not to think about any of this in my actual life, only in a very detached way, when I was working on JARVIS. The rest of the time, I just lived up to expectations, and pretended, and bought into all the little status symbols along with everyone else. And I think it made me more rigid, some of the time, more… more sexist than I would have been, maybe, more basic when I argued… Because, I thought the choices were, behave like this privileged man I had designed, because _everyone_ behaves like they think they should behave, or like they want people to see them… or I had to think about what I was going to do otherwise. And, you know, it was all so complicated, and you could never win anyway… blah, blah, blah… I just sort of, decided not to know any of this, because thinking about it drove me mad.”

 

“So what happened?” Steve whispered.

“Lots of things, really… There was Afghanistan, obviously. Had to take a good hard look at myself after that… And I kinda had to acknowledge that I did know all this stuff, that I’d always known it really. I couldn’t help thinking about it a certain way, you know? Asking myself what it meant to really change and be a better person, and how much of it was just about what I felt or other people felt… And then I found out that I had, like, six months to live, and then everything felt very pointless… but that didn’t stop me wondering what the point should have been, you know?” Tony asked, and Steve just nodded. And then, after a little pause, Tony told him. “And then, after all that, there was you.”

 

Tony rolled onto his side, so that he could focus on Steve completely, and waited until Steve rolled over to face him.

 

“When you first turned up, honestly, I just thought, well, this is kind of fun, and exciting” Tony admitted “But, so much of you just didn’t make sense, on the surface… it _wouldn’t_ make sense, to other people… because you _don’t_ have all the same shortcuts other people do, the ones I’d figured out and stopped thinking about years ago. You don’t believe in any higher meaning to anything, you really don’t care what people think, in a completely different way to everyone else. You are completely free from _all_ consequences, you aren’t even sure that the things you’re doing are real… but still. You so _want_ to be good. And you _are_ still good – relentlessly, endlessly empathetic and sweet and panicked about fucking it up. I can see it all, even though it doesn’t go with all these cynical observations of human nature. And the more I’m just _looking_ at you, it’s all just good. I’m just looking at kind, and sweet, and gentle, and safe… and I don’t know how to make sense of it, or how to predict it, but it’s all just _there_. And, to start with, I tried not to think about that, and the things it almost made me think back to and reconsider and stuff… But then, I can’t _help_ trying to make sense of it, and then I just… ”

 

And he traced his fingers along Steve’s arm, until his hand rested on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“I just couldn’t run from the idea that I _could_ help you. And the more I thought about the bits of you that were different to regular people, the more I started to see the bits of you that weren’t… the more I started to remember all the words I’d had for this, once. It started out, I’d see you make certain choices, or you’d say something, I don’t know… but I had this feeling of _I can explain that_. I know why you’re scared of that, and it isn’t real. I know you’re mixing up feeling guilty with doing something wrong. I know _how_ your brain is making all these connections – because even in an impossible situation, even when you’re the only person on earth who doesn’t have all the expectations and the beliefs and other stuff, even though so much of you doesn’t makes sense… some of it still so does. In fact, that stuff I can almost see more clearly, because everything else about you is so out there… I just kept seeing all these very human things you were doing in the face of this inhuman thing, and thinking… I _know_ I know a way to help with this. Not everything… but explaining a human mind, out of context… that’s the weird thing I can do. It’s different to knowing the human mind any other way… but here you were, and I just kept thinking, _that_ could help this.”

 

“And I didn’t want it to – for the first few weeks of this thing, I ran from that, same as you did. Didn’t want to think about it, told myself you were leaving anyway, there was no point in wondering… But you just didn’t give me out.” Tony shook his head, affectionately “You were just so relentlessly, endlessly kind, and sweet and patient and… and here we are. And suddenly, I’m thinking about all this stuff again, and it isn’t even scary. I don’t know why. But thinking about _you_ is so much better than just thinking about _people_. Looking at you, and trying to work out how I’d explain to _you_ … it doesn’t feel as pointless and frustrating as thinking how I’d explain it to anyone else – even though it _is_ frustrating, sometimes” He narrowed his eyes at Steve, teasing, and Steve smiled “But… do you know why I’m telling you all of this?”

“Why?”

“Because I realised I was probably being unfair, expecting you to talk about horrible memories, and frightening questions, and things you don’t think you should know, if I wasn’t prepared to do the same.” Tony answered, simply. “Because, I thought, if I want you to share this thing with me, I had to, y’know, _share_. And because, when I thought about doing this, because I had to and because I should and all that, I realised… I wanted to. That, actually, I think maybe _you_ might get it now, after everything you’ve been through…”

 

And then Tony just gave Steve’s shoulder an affectionate little squeeze and asked him,

 

“What happened to you, before you came here?”

 

And so, Steve took a deep breath, and told him.

 

Everything.

 

He went right back to the person he was before he took the serum, to the neighbourhood fights and the endless attempts to lie his way into the army. He told Tony all about the forties, and the street he grew up on, and what it was like to be at war. He went all through his training, meeting Peggy and Howard and Colonel Philips, what it felt like when the serum was injected, how he felt about it afterwards. He went through his dancing monkey days and his Howling Commando days, what it was like to lose Bucky and then to think he’d sacrificed his own life. What it felt like to wake up seventy years in the future, what sort of world he found. He told Tony everything about another version of Tony, everything they had been through, everything Steve thought about it at the time and since –

 

He was completely honest.

 

When he described Tony flying a nuclear warhead through a wormhole, he shone with unambiguous pride, and when he told Tony about ULTRON he was conflicted and angry and sorry, and when he went through everything that had happened in the lead up to Siberia he crawled with shame… but he left nothing out. He told Tony all about Thanos and the snap and the world that was left behind. He recited word for word what Tony had said, when he landed back on earth after three weeks lost in the darkness, and tried to explain how agonising it had been to listen to, how much it had hurt, how sorry he was… He tried to describe the five years that followed, the feeling of loss, the sense that everything had just tapered out to a sad and unsatisfying finish… He talked about that final mission, how it felt to have the team back together, how right it felt, how he’d _hoped_.

 

And then he told Tony how he died.

 

Not just the details of the battle. Not just the final actions and words. Steve told Tony _everything._ Everything he’d felt and thought about it, how angry he still was, how tragic it had been. He went through all those beautiful memories with Tony _again,_ just to provide the context for his death, to try and explain how much Steve had lost when Tony took his final breath. Steve told Tony about wanting to push everyone else aside and steal those final moments with him. All the things he’d thought about saying, all the nights he’s stayed awake imagining a different outcome, picturing the ways they could have won, the ways Steve might have saved him. How many things he wished were different. Just how much he’d loved him…

 

He even explained how he ended up lost in time. He shared all the words he had for it, at least. Enough that he knew… Tony understood.

 

And talking about all this was horrible, and difficult, and Steve cried… but somehow, it wasn’t worse than the images he’d tried to dodge a few hours ago. It wasn’t worse that all these weeks and months of not looking at it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought it would be. And Tony was here, calm and kind and unjudgmental, listening to him speak for hours and hours, soothing him when he got upset… And, by the end of it, Steve really _was_ exhausted. His throat was dry, and his eyes burned from crying, and his head throbbed…

 

And, God, he felt so much better.

 

Not just better than he had since he got here, or even since he’d left 2023 – he felt better in that moment than he had in _years_. Because, now, Tony knew everything. _Someone_ knew everything. There was finally someone who knew everything that had happened to him, all the bits that didn’t go together and didn’t sound very good and didn’t make sense. All the bits he’d thought he had to hide and cover up and explain away, because there wasn’t anyone who really knew him. There hadn’t been anyone that really knew Steve since Bucky fell from that train, half a lifetime ago… And when he looked at Tony now, there was an almost dizzying feeling of relief, of _freedom_ , knowing that there was nothing he was trying to hide. He didn’t have to worry what Tony might find out, or work out, or even what Tony might think of him – because, whatever it was, he already thought it now.

 

There. That’s all there was.

 

It was… wonderful.

 

And then, when Steve finally ran out of things to say, and he’d fallen into an extended pause, feeling spent and lightheaded and raw… _then_ , Tony tilted his head closer, and took Steve’s hand, and told him,

 

“I love you.”

 

And Steve didn’t _care_ why that felt so good. He didn’t stop to wonder where that rush of relief came from, or if he _should_ feel something else…

 

He just felt safe, and loved, and…

 

Better.

 

For a few moments, they just lay there together, and Steve _liked_ that he could lie down, and be still and quiet, and let his head spin and his muscles ache…

 

And then Tony smiled at him.

 

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

“Starving.” Steve realised, as he answered. In fact… He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten…

“Grilled cheese sandwiches.” Tony said, formally. First, Steve’s stomach twitched. Then, he smiled.

“That might actually be the best idea you’ve ever had.” He almost slurred. He was so tired of talking…

“Comfort food” Tony commented, absent-mindedly. And then Steve saw a thought cross Tony’s mind, the little crease in his forehead and the flicker of a smile, before he went on “Have you ever made yourself comfort food, before?”

“Hm?”

“Back in the first timeline, or whatever – when you were living at the Tower.” Tony clarified “When you were sad and lonely… I don’t know, I have trouble thinking of you curling up in bed for the day with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s… I more see you sitting on a wooden stool, thinking what more you could have done, while you ate an onion, or something-”

 

Steve burst out laughing. It hurt his throat.

 

“ _Well_ … You _do_ self-flagellate, a lot, I don’t know if you noticed…” Tony explained, grinning, while Steve got his giggling under control.

“I’m not _that_ bad.” Steve managed to explain.

“Hm.” Tony smiled back… _knowingly_ … “So – _have_ you ever made yourself comfort food, before?”

 

And the laughter died in Steve’s chest as he realised…

 

“…No, actually. Not really.”

“Hm” Tony acknowledged, still smiling. And then there was a moment when he just looked at Steve, warm and caring and _safe_ , and Steve didn’t mind… And then Tony reminded him,

 

“Grilled cheese sandwiches.”

 

*

 

And now, for Steve, the present was this.

 

He was sitting at the breakfast bar of Tony’s kitchen, finishing off his third sandwich – because, as it turned out, he really was _starving_. Tony had just turned away from the grill, still chatting on about how he and Rhodey invented ridiculous sandwich concoctions at MIT, his voice like a blanket around Steve’s shoulders… Steve’s whole body ached, now. His eyes felt bruised, and his throat still felt raw after two pints of water… but still, somehow, this was nice…

 

Tony sat down across the worktop from Steve, and smiled, and for a few moments there was nothing but comfortable silence while they ate. And in those moments Steve’s relief carried on unfolding for him, slowly.

 

He thought of the terrible food in the forties, and there was that chilling loneliness that _always_ came with remembering a world that no one else knew… and then that little tug of reassurance as he remembered – he could at least tell Tony those stories, now. Tony might not have been there, and he might not really _know_ , but at least he had the background details. For the first time in twenty years, Steve had the option of telling a casual anecdote about his childhood, without thinking of how he’d explain who everyone was and where he was talking about and why they’d be doing that in the first place. All these years of not bothering with stories, because there was just too much foundational work to do – and he’d done it. That was something. In fact… that was much more than just something. He hadn’t realised until now just how big a thing it was, to be able to talk like a normal person… Even if there was no one who would ever _know_ -

 

And then he remembered – Bucky would know.

 

Bucky was _here_.

 

Steve had already started building up his little defence against reality when they found out where Bucky was…even before that, while they were looking, there had always been that unspoken knowledge that he wouldn’t be here to see how it worked out. It certainly hadn’t occurred to Steve that _he_ might have anything to look forward to, in helping Bucky – _that_ had barely occurred to him the first time around... Since the moment the mask fell from the Winter Soldiers face, Steve’s only thoughts were of _helping_ Bucky, saving him from his twisted life, keeping him out of the hands of the authorities, stopping everyone from killing him. If, at the very beginning, he had any hope of getting Bucky _back_ , it was quickly buried in favour of the more imminent priorities… buried because Captain America didn’t think about himself like that, when a man’s life was at stake…

 

And then, out of habit, Steve remembered that he could never really have Bucky _back_ – because, y’know, Tony… And, no, wait, that one didn’t apply any more either. Tony knew everything now. Steve didn’t have to worry about slipping up, he didn’t have to worry about how hurt Tony might be over all this… and he didn’t have to worry about Tony hating Bucky. Tony _didn’t_ hate Bucky, and there was no caveat on that now, no secrets or lies at the foundation of it. Steve didn’t have to make a choice between them. They might even end up being friends with each other…

 

And Steve still had no idea what that looked like. He wasn’t really thinking about all the possibilities that suddenly existed, not yet. For the time being, he was more overwhelmed by the things that _weren’t_ there. By the strange, repeated realisation that he didn’t have to worry about that now… or that … or that…

 

He looked up and saw Tony smiling at him, quietly. And again, he went to feel embarrassed. He began to search for an excuse for his mood, or a way to defect Tony’s attention… oh, no, wait. Don’t need to bother with that either…

 

He could just look at Tony now, and smile back, and think about what Tony had told him tonight. How astonishingly clever Tony really was, so much more than Steve had realised even after all these years… and he felt that little stir of apprehension, that wordless worry of what had happened to JARVIS, and what Tony would think about it – oh, no, wait… he already knew…

 

There _was_ no reason Steve couldn’t just speak. Just _ask_ -

 

“So, does this mean he, you, knew all of this stuff the whole time?” He didn’t even care that it hadn’t been a particularly articulate question.

“About JARVIS and the brain and all that?” Tony clarified, and Steve nodded. “Well, sort of… like I say, I was trying not to think about it… but, also, there is a lot of that I only got to putting into words, since you.” And then he fixed Steve with a more focussed look. “And I do mean _you_ by the way, not just any version of you. If you’re wondering whether that me was thinking any of this, the first time he met you. The answer is probably not. Because, even though I have no doubt that you were still good when you were twenty-seven… It wasn’t just that. It’d have to be more than that – I was _pretty_ keen not to start thinking about all this again. For a start, if you’d been mean to me even once, that’d have been a great excuse not to bother. And that wouldn’t really mean you didn’t deserve my help, or you were any less good, just cos you were mean to someone once when you were twenty-seven, would it? But I’m sure, if I’d had a reason to run from you, I’d have taken it. Like I say, this time around, you just… didn’t give me anything. So.” He shrugged, theatrically, and Steve felt himself smile “And, of course, if you weren’t a time traveller, you wouldn’t have been having the same crisis for me to latch onto like this. A different one, and maybe I couldn’t help in that case… or maybe it just wasn’t specific enough to get me thinking like this. I don’t know. But. Sort of, is the answer to your question.”

 

And Steve didn’t really know what to make of that response. But just hearing it was still so much better than having the question, _did he always know?_ echoing in his head. Just saying that question out loud. However he felt about the answer, it felt better than guessing what Tony would have said…

 

He liked talking. He really hadn’t known that.

 

“You should get some proper sleep, you know.” Tony carried on, lightly, as he stood up to clear their plates away. And Steve smiled again.

 

He liked being taken care of. He hadn’t known that, either.

 

“Hm” Steve nodded again, already thinking how nice it would be to close his eyes for a while… and then, in amongst his thoughts of beds, he remembered the letter he’d left folded on his side table. It made him feel uncomfortable, he wasn’t sure why. He just knew he didn’t want anyone to find it. He didn’t want it to exist anymore. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five.” Tony answered cheerfully, and Steve took a minute to realise that he meant _in the morning_. God, he had been talking for _hours_.

“Is Nat still in the guest room?” He asked – and he saw a little flicker of disappointment, or worry, that Tony raced to cover before he answered,

“Oh, no – she insisted on taking the first watch with Bucky, so she’s in the lab until morning, if you wanted to be on your own for a while-”

“Oh, no – no.” Steve rushed to reassure him, “No, I’d much rather be with you. I just, uh, I left something I wanted to grab, that’s all.” And the way Tony melted, just a little, with the relief of that warmed Steve right through.

 

“You go up, okay?” He carried on, smiling at Tony as he stood up “I’ll just be a minute.”

 

 

Steve picked up the letter, thinking that he’d simply tear it up and throw it away. A tiny errand on his way up to bed; one last inconsequential chore in what had been a hugely consequential day. He didn’t know he was going to unfold it. He didn’t recognise that he _was_ unfolding it… just misplaced muscle memory, a mental association he’d seen through before he could think about it. And then he found himself casting an unfocussed eye over his own erratic handwriting…

 

Random phrases leapt out at him. _Whatever ULTRON was meant to be…. Whatever oversight you decide to accept… I don’t know if you CAN back JARVIS up, or if you could have restored him, if you’d known in advance…_

That last one tasted especially bitter.

 

Of course, it _all_ seemed short sighted and ridiculous and wrong, now. He could see it all so clearly, _now_. How confidently he talked about things he knew nothing about, or had no authority over. How illogical and irresponsible and stubborn he’d been – how infuriating he’d been in denying everything he was…

 

God, this embarrassment again.

 

This awkward self-awareness he’d cringed through _so_ many times… because he’d done this so many times. Been so adamant about such rigid ideas, so determined not to listen – coming out with bullshit like this _instead_ of listening. Crafting these nonsensical arguments and insensitive letters because he couldn’t bear to think about it…

 

He remembered the last time he felt this way about a letter he’d written.

 

It had taken longer for him to stop lying to himself, that time. Or, it had been longer before Tony got to yell at him – because it had taken a lecture from Tony that time, too…

 

_I got nothing for you Cap! I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options! Zero, zip, nada. No trust –_

_Liar_.

 

And with that, after two years, Steve’s self-loathing had finally toppled his denial. His carefully constructed interpretation of everything had collapsed like a house of cards… And, along with everything else, Steve remembered thinking, _I wish I’d never sent that letter._

 

God, he really did just keep making the same mistake over and over, the exact same things-

 

Except he hadn’t sent this letter, had he? He was here to tear it up.

 

_I didn’t actually do it, this time._

 

He hadn’t actually left.

 

…He _wasn’t_ leaving.

 

It was like there was a sudden abundance of oxygen in the room, like everything was so much brighter. He didn’t even know how long he’d known that. When it stopped being a sad fact that he was leaving, and became obvious that he wasn’t…

 

But he wasn’t.

 

Obviously.

 

And, in that moment, he _felt_ it. After all these hours of slowly recognising all these changes, it finally hit him that everything he’d been so scared of had just _gone away_. That he’d spent weeks running from the idea of leaving, that he’d been so painfully sad about leaving, that he’d been _dreading_ leaving – and he didn’t have to.

 

More than that – he shouldn’t.

 

All the arguments that he’d spent the night unpacking… all there, in a perfect order.

All the things Tony had said, and Steve _believed_ them, he _knew_ -

 

Oh, God, he wasn’t leaving.

 

And suddenly his legs felt so weak, he had no choice but to just slide to the floor. He only knew his hands were shaking because the letter was crackling as it shook – he felt completely detached from them, like his whole body was off happening somewhere else. It was like the positive version of a nervous breakdown. An enlightened break through, or something…

 

He didn’t have to go back to that horrible, lonely life of nothing.

He didn’t have to leave Tony. He didn’t have to break Tony’s heart – and, God, he didn’t have to break his own. Steve didn’t have to leave him-

Steve could _keep_ him

Steve could really be with him, they could wake up together everyday and make plans together and build a life

A life with this team, in this new world, and Bucky – a life that had all these potentials, and God, he really didn’t know what they were, just like everyone else-

 

He thought of all those things that had seemed so tragic yesterday, all the reasons it could’ve been so good between them… It _could_ be so good between them. More than he’d realised, even yesterday. Because he really hadn’t known how clever Tony was, or that they had these broad thoughts in common, or that Tony really might be able to help. He hadn’t known that one day he would tell Tony everything, and how much it would matter, and-

 

_And oh my God, Tony loves me_

 

He’d not let himself think about that, when Tony first said it. It had seemed heart breaking and dangerous, like something terrible Steve had done. And he’d been so sure that Tony didn’t mean it, that Tony didn’t know him, that it wasn’t real…

 

But _now_ came the elated, impossible joy that he always imaged he’d feel, if this really happened. The thing he felt in all his daydreams and fantasies.

 

Tony Stark loved him.

 

He tore the letter up and threw the pieces into the bin with a flourish. A celebration of the things he already felt rather than a liberating act per se – but, oh, it felt good to do it.

 

Oh, he _hadn’t_ done it. He hadn’t pushed Tony, he hadn’t jumped into the abyss in a panic, he hadn’t sent yet another _stupid_ letter…

 

By the time he made it up to Tony’s bedroom, he was almost delirious with joy. He pushed the door open with just a little too much force, and he saw Tony jump, getting up from where he had been sitting on the bed with a look of mild concern.

“Hey…” He began, in a slightly questioning tone.

“Oh God, I am _so_ sorry Tony.” Steve told him, breathless. And he saw Tony’s frown deepen, and he raced to clarify –

 

“I am _never_ going to leave you.”

 

And he watched Tony just _stop._ The concern melted away, along with everything else, as Tony’s eyes widened and his lips parted – and, God, he’d never been so beautiful.

 

“And I am _so_ sorry I said I was, I’m so sorry for all this… _nonsense_ , I’m sorry that I didn’t listen, and that I didn’t think, and that I kept telling you all these things that aren’t true.” Steve babbled on, unable to contain it. “And, Jesus, this is _all_ I’ve ever wanted, and I can’t even – I don’t know _what_ made me think – but you’re right. You’re always right, and I… Oh, God, I-”

“It’s okay” Tony helped him out, stepping into Steve, a look of stunned happiness on his face that just overwhelmed Steve even more.

“No, Tony, I-” And Steve put his hands on Tony’s arms, just like he had all those months ago in Monaco, and Tony looked up at him… “ _I love you_ ” Steve breathed “And I just _keep_ falling in love with you – I loved you, him, more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and everyday he just made me love him more, and I thought that _was_ it – and then there’s you. And now I see that you are so much smarter, so much _better_ , than I even knew, and, Jesus, I don’t know why _anyone_ would leave you. I already knew I’d just die if I left you – I will _never_ leave you, I swear. I just want to be with you, _you_ , that’s all I want, and I, I just… I’m-”

“It’s alright” Tony whispered, his eyes shining, as he slid his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him closer. And Steve brought his hand to the side of Tony’s face, and pressed his forehead to Tony’s, and told him again,

“I will never leave you. And I know you don’t believe me, I know you must think I’ve said so many things by now, but I promise I-ll-mmh.mm-”

 

And the last of his ramble was cut short by Tony kissing him.

 

And, God, Steve just wanted to kiss him.

 

Steve just wanted him, he just wanted to be with him, he just wanted to hold him and love him and _have_ him-

 

And he could.

 

Oh, God, he actually _could._

 

 

 


	15. Breaking Free

The next time Steve woke up, everything was different.

 

He knew it, before he’d even opened his eyes. He _felt_ different. Rested, and, healthier…and… _better_ …

 

And then Steve looked at Tony, dozing lightly on his side beside him – and he _remembered_.

 

Steve remembered that he was staying.

He remembered that he had told Tony everything.

He remembered that Tony Stark was his _boyfriend_ now…

 

He remembered it all with his whole body. His lungs temporarily forgot about breathing; _they_ were too preoccupied by all these revelations. Tony, right there… _his_.

 

Steve had never had the chance to just be in love, before now. For that to be permanent and the present and a fact.  He’d never had sex with someone who loved him – well, not that he’d known, anyway… He’d never had a partner, right there, right _here_ in the moment. There had been years of, _one day_ … with Peggy, and years of, _if only…_ with another version of Tony, but it had never actually _been_. And now…

 

He had this overwhelming feeling of being in the _present_. Or, maybe it was the absence of feeling… he _didn’t_ feel like a man from the past, like he had the whole time he’d lived in the tower. He _didn’t_ feel like a man from the future, like he had since he arrived in Monaco. He didn’t feel like a man from nowhere at all. And, maybe, he was still all of those things… but right now felt like right now. He just felt it. An overwhelming awareness of the moment – _the_ moment, not just one of thousands that might’ve happened. A feeling like he belonged here, that it was as much his world as anyone’s.

 

Steve remembered the way Tony smiled when he asked him, _so you are my boyfriend now...?_ He remembered the warm, joyous way Tony kissed him, he remembered Tony whispering, _I love you_. He remembered _all_ the things Tony had said to him, when Steve finally stopped babbling and just let Tony hold him, and kiss him, and tell him everything was going to be okay…

 

Last night, that was all Steve wanted. He couldn’t see beyond the joy of having that. He was too exhausted and emotional to do anything but let it all happen; there was nothing more than having Tony right there, telling him it was okay, telling him he should sleep...

 

This morning, Steve could think of more.

 

He looked at Tony, that angelic face resting softly somewhere between asleep and awake, and he was overwhelmed with such a basic, _primal_ feeling of love. An immediate and instinctive need to touch him, to feel him, to _have_ him…

 

He shuffled closer and brought his hand to Tony’s cheek, running his thumb along Tony’s jaw. And Tony sighed, and opened his eyes, and Steve remembered _exactly_ the way it had swamped him the first time he saw those eyes. He remembered all the times he’d been stopped in tracks by just how wide and deep and impossibly beautiful those eyes were, how he’d longed for an excuse to just look _._ How _much_ he’d wanted to kiss that perfect, pretty mouth… And when he did it, Tony’s lips were still hot and soft with sleep, almost smiling as he kissed Steve back. There was a playful little murmur that Steve could feel against his lips, melting into a moan as Steve pulled him closer. Then Tony broke away with a grin, his chest heaving with the need for air.

“Morning” Tony giggled.

“You’re adorable. I _adore_ you. You’re perfect” Steve whispered, his hands still caressing their way over Tony’s skin.

“First thing in the morning, hm?” Tony teased, his gaze falling back to Steve’s mouth.

“All the times, every part of you, always.” Steve promised, pushing Tony onto his back and climbing on top of him. Tony breathed a surprised little _oh_ as Steve kissed him again, his hands going straight to Steve’s hips to pull him close. Steve felt that friction run all through his body, and with it a physical, compulsive need for more. Tony whimpered softly as Steve began to rock against him, his fingers digging into Steve’s hips as he urged him, _again, again, again…_ The next time that Tony had to gasp for air Steve didn’t miss a beat; he just dropped his head and kissed Tony’s throat, slow and almost deep enough to bruise. Tony let his head fall back, one hand grabbing roughly at Steve’s hair, the other moving to the small of his back, still encouraging Steve into him, _more, still more…_

 

“Oh God you feel so good” Steve breathed, not even talking to Tony, just unable to contain it “Every inch of you, just the shape of you, you’re so beautiful, so strong, fuck, I love it when you moan like that-”

“Jesus Steve, you’re-” But Tony’s words were cut off by a gasp as Steve nipped sharply at his ear. Steve slid his hands under Tony’s T-Shirt, and pushed it up over his arms, and looked down on Tony’s flawless, unscarred chest – _his_ Tony’s chest…

 

_That’s it baby. Breathe._

 

Oh, of course Tony was meant to breathe. Tony was _meant_ to be healthy, and happy, and alive. And Steve was still so sorry that it hadn’t worked out that way in another reality, and he even knew he wasn’t done being hurt and angry over that – but it didn’t make him question _this_ anymore. He couldn’t understand what had made him question it in the first place, when it was so easy, so natural, so obviously right.

 

Steve knew this body now. Even when everything felt new and changed and different, he _knew_ Tony – _this_ Tony.

 

He knew all the sensitive spots on Tony’s skin, where to bite and where to tease and where to dig his nails in hard. He knew the way Tony’s breath would catch, the way his body would relax and open up to Steve, the needy, pleading whine that would creep into his voice. Steve knew how to move so that Tony could undress him, he knew that Tony would arch his back and part his legs at the lightest touch. He could feel how much Tony wanted him, even without Tony’s increasing frenetic encouragement – and, Christ, Steve wanted to touch him, it felt _so_ good to touch him. Steve loved the feel of his skin and the desperate little noises he made and, God, the way he looked as he fell to pieces- And it all belonged to him now, the way all of Steve belonged to Tony. This moment, this relationship, was made of both of them now, built on the things they’d learned about each other and the trust they’d earned and the faith they’d shown – it only existed here, in _this_ moment, between these specific versions of them.

 

It was real.

 

And when Steve finally got to push inside him, and watch his beautiful _boyfriend’s_ eyes fall shut as he breathed his name… it was the first time it had ever been real. This was the first time it had ever just been the two of them, and the moment, no caveats or limitations or things they weren’t allowed to think about. Tony whispered _I love you_ , and Steve knew he meant it, that it meant something. Steve took him like he already had him. He put his hands around Tony’s waist and held him firm and rocked that low pleasure into him, again and again, not even recognising what he was thinking and what he was saying out loud. And all the while Tony was begging Steve to do all the things he longed to do anyway, touching him in all the ways he’d always wanted.

 

“Oh, Jesus, Steve, I-”

“ _Tony, Tony, Tony-”_

 

“ _Oh, fuck, Steve, I love you, I love you, please, Steve-”_

And then Steve felt Tony tense against him, and he let himself just fall over the edge with him, the two of them connected in the same reaction, the same emotion, the same moment. Steve gripped Tony with the same desperate heat he felt digging into his own back, pulled Tony as close as he wanted to be held, whispered _I love you too, I love you so much_ as he came.

 

The whole world went out of focus for a moment, leaving just the thumping of his heart and the shape of Tony pressed against his chest. And then he slowly became aware of the sound of Tony’s voice, still babbling mindlessly into Steve’s shoulder, the melody of it eventually breaking into words he recognised,

 

… _love you so much, I’ll always love you, I promise, I’ll always look after you, just don’t leave, never leave…_

 

And Steve began to realise that this was just as big a relief for Tony

 

… That it was the _same_ relief for Tony.

 

And that, just for once – no, not just for once. That, _for the rest of his life_ , there wasn’t a horrible choice here. There wasn’t a debate between doing what he wanted, and doing what was best for Tony, and doing was ‘right’. That _all_ he had to do, to make Tony happy, was to do everything he’d ever wanted. He only had to tell the truth.

 

“I love you, and I am _never_ leaving.”

 

*

 

By the time Steve made it out of the bedroom – _their_ bedroom – it was mid-afternoon.

 

His head was still swimming, pleasantly, and there was no tension in any of his muscles. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t melted into a puddle, but he hadn’t, so he was going with it. He just let his legs take him to the lounge, his eyes drifting lazily over the familiar setting…

 

Home.

 

This was his home now. This was going to be his home for however long it was before they moved onto another one – and Steve didn’t know if and when that would happen, and that was wonderful. Just being like anyone else, comfortable where he was, free to daydream about where he could go.

 

Because it wasn’t this house that was his home, it was the people and the possibilities and the memories it contained.

 

And, at the same time, this house _was_ his home, and he could feel connected to it now, and love the little things about it, and know he’d always think of it fondly – that he’d always _remember_ it as his.

 

Oh, there surely had to be some sort of come down from this. He couldn’t float through the rest of his life in this haze of elation, this strange state of calm hypersensitivity… Eventually he’d have to get back to the complicated bits, and the sad bits, and the pain he’d only just begun to process. He wondered, vaguely, if it would scare him when he got to it. If anything would ever scare him again. At the moment, all he could think was how much easier it would all be with Tony to help him through it.

 

How wonderful Tony was, and how beautiful, and how much Steve loved him…

 

_And Tony loves me too…_

 

And then Nat sloped heavily into the living room, looking the exact opposite of the way Steve felt. Her shoulders were slumped, and her skin looked paler – Steve could see the shadows under her eyes from across the room. And yet, she smiled. That same little smile, somewhere between a challenge and a reassurance… Steve remembered it.

 

Steve remembered _her_.

 

And it wasn’t the woman he’d said goodbye to in 2023. That Natasha was a unique person, someone forged by the twelve years she’d spent with the Avengers – good and bad – as much as anything in her childhood or her DNA. That Natasha had become something else, lived a whole other life, written her own story. She had grown into something different, learned different things, built something separate with Steve, and with the team, and with the world. That Natasha had a different smile, at the end.

 

But still, Steve remembered this one.

 

Steve remembered a different person to the one Nat had grown into. He remembered the person she’d started out as. This wasn’t the person who had sacrificed herself so heroically on Vormir, or who had gone on the run with him after Siberia, or helped him take down SHIELD. This wasn’t the person Steve knew at the end – but still, he knew her. This wasn’t the friend he had lost, but still, this was his friend. And, more than that, this _could_ be his friend. This was someone he already knew so much about and had such a strong connection to, but still someone he was just starting a relationship with. A relationship that could develop in any number of ways, and a friend that could change in any number of ways…

 

Knowing what Nat _wasn’t_ didn’t stop him seeing what she _was,_ not anymore.

 

His grief and his trauma hadn’t gone away, but suddenly they didn’t blind him to what was right in front of his eyes. It didn’t stop him seeing the same person who had smiled at him _just like that_ when she greeted him on the Helicarrier in 2012. It didn’t stop him recognising the same potential there had always been, it didn’t push him to panic about what was going to happen or what should happen or what would have happened… just like he hadn’t worried about those things the first time he met her.

 

What had seemed so complicated, so _insurmountable,_ suddenly seemed quite simple. He wanted to be her friend. Whatever they had both been through and whoever they had lost, there was still the chance to build something new, and important, right _now_.

 

“You look better.” She observed, breaking him out of his train of thought. His smile broadened.

“I feel better.” He beamed, walking towards her. “You look tired.”

“I feel tired.” She joked, good natured enough

“You don’t do hugs, right?” He remembered, stopping a few feet away.

“No.”

“That’s a shame. I give great hugs.” Steve sighed, casually. And a little laugh escaped Nat even as she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“…Are you worried that he’ll hurt someone, or that he’ll get hurt?” Steve went on, after a pause.

“I don’t know” Nat answered, in the tone of a confession. “That’s what bothers me. Just not really knowing what the priority is here, where the main plan is going…” And then she pulled herself together, made herself stand upright “Once everyone has … _recovered_ from the last few days, we should all sit down and discuss the next stage of this thing. That’ll help, I think…”

 

And Steve… got it.

 

He understood the anxiety she was almost sharing, almost hiding, the one she couldn’t put into words. The search for a set of guidelines, an ideology, an objective priority, a _plan_. A structure for the endless swirl of doubts and questions, a way to fence in this guilt before it overwhelmed everything. The void that is left when you turn your back on everything you know, whether it’s SHIELD or the forties or the KGB, the desire to find something equally clear cut and comprehensive to replace it with…

 

The way it all changes, when you’re responsible for others. When they make you the _leader_ of the team that is meant to be better than that…

 

Steve knew all this before he left his own timeline. He even knew most of this about Nat, the first time around. There had been so many moments of camaraderie and shared trauma that he’d simply smiled at, sad and stoic and resolved… because, of course, to have _said_ he understood would have meant admitting he’d been frightened and conflicted himself. Captain America didn’t feel any of the things he’d recognised in others, there was no ‘on brand’ way for Captain America to have a conversation with a friend about being scared you’d screwed it up.

 

But Steve could, now.

 

“Yeah, that always helps.” Steve agreed, with a warm smile “But… you know, even if what you’re doing right now _feels_ really different to everything you’ve ever done – at least 90% of it isn’t. You’re just taking all that for granted. But, really, most of this thing, even the thing with Bucky, is just all the things you’re already good at. Planning for potential attacks and accidents, covering your tracks, reading people – I don’t know anyone better at that stuff than you.”

 

And a thought occurred to him even as he was speaking.

 

“I really wish I’d thought that way when I first arrived in the future… I was so focussed on all the things that were different. It felt like _everything_ was different, and I couldn’t possibly understand anything… but, looking back… people still went to baseball games, and ate the same awful food at the ballpark. People still went out to dinner, and to movie theatres, and to bars. People still got head colds and splinters and those weird moments when you really think about what happens after you die, for no reason. People still have pet dogs, and people are still scared of spiders, and people still get embarrassed and jealous and excited. And on and on and on. And I kinda wish it had occurred to me that we could all have, I don’t know, played cards or something, and it wouldn’t have been an effort for anyone…” And then Steve shook his head self-consciously, and wondered if he’d drifted away from the point. “I just mean… If you’re going to list all the reasons you can’t do a thing, you should probably at least list all the reasons you _can_ , even the really obvious ones – then see which list is really longer.” He finished with a shrug. And Nat smiled at him.

 

He’d never seen that one before.

 

“So when _did_ that occur to you, then?” She asked, eyebrow raised.

“…possibly right now” Steve admitted “But, you know, sometimes things make more sense when you explain them to someone else.”

“Hm” She carried on smiling.

 

“Hey, do we have any more idea when he’ll be awake?” Steve asked, after a beat. Nat shook her head.

“Some of the results have only just finished running, and I think we’re going to want to have a very close look at those before we risk doing anything” She explained. “I took the executive decision to keep him under a few days more, so we can discuss all of our options with a full data set tomorrow – although, to be honest, it’s likely to take him a few days to come around fully, whatever we do…”

“Well, I was going to go up and see him anyway – if you want to get some rest.”

“I don’t know if anyone has to sit with him, really.” Nat replied, almost sheepishly.

“No, I know.” Steve agreed, “But I might go up anyway… I’ve not seen him in a while.” And Nat just nodded, _okay._

 

And then, just as Steve was smiling a goodbye, Nat stepped into Steve and put her arms around him. Steve waited until she’d rested her head on his shoulder before he folded his arms across her back and hugged her. She stayed there just a few seconds, just long enough to let go of a heavy breath.

“You do give great hugs.” She agreed, casually, as she stepped away.

 

“Hell yeah I do.” He joked, and listened to her laugh as he made his way up to see Bucky.

 

*

 

Steve hadn’t intended to stay with Bucky for long. The logical part of his brain knew that it wasn’t necessary for anyone’s safety, and it wouldn’t be any comfort to Bucky. And the sentimental side of his brain knew it would be no comfort to _him_ , to see his childhood friend under a layer of ice... He’d seen that before, and it never felt good. The original plan had been to stop by briefly, for just long enough that Nat would be able to fall asleep without wondering what was happening in the lab.  

 

But then he actually saw Bucky. And, out of nowhere, the thought occurred to him… he _was_ just Steve, to Bucky. There wasn’t a conflict for Bucky. From his point of view, it would be one linear story… it would even make sense, when you accepted that time travel existed.

 

When Bucky woke up, Steve would be here – the same Steve that had played softball with him and snuck into movie theatres with him and gone on disastrous double dates with him. Those _were_ Steve’s memories, it was this version of him that had happened to, with this Bucky, who it had all happened to, too. The same memories, of each other. And when Bucky asked what had happened to him since, Steve could simply tell the truth – that he, like Bucky, had survived the accident that everyone thought had killed him. That he, like Bucky, had been kept in a state of living death for all these years, in a cocoon of ice. That he had woken up in 2012, and lived for fifteen years, and that thanks to time travel, he was here now. He knew, Bucky would hear all of that and just know that his friend Steve was here… and he was. It really was that simple.

 

And _then_ it occurred to him… he didn’t really have another version of Bucky, to compete with this one.

 

The other version of Bucky… the one he’d left behind… Steve had never really had a chance to get to know him. Not the person he’d grown into, after all he’d been through since 1945. Steve had spent so little time with that man. A few days on the run after Siberia, a few hours before Thanos’ snap, a few weeks after that final battle – most of which Steve had spent in a haze of grief, anyway. He never found out what _that_ Bucky became… could’ve become…

 

There were mixed feelings about that one. Not the usual, wordless darkness, or the immediate instinct to flinch from it – it was still better. But…

 

He found himself sinking into the chair in the corner of the room, never taking his eyes off of Bucky. He looked more like he was asleep than frozen – more like the Bucky he left in the forties than The Winter Soldier. Different men with the same face…

 

Steve was suddenly very sad for another man, with the same face. He was sad for the Bucky he’d left in 2023, for the things that _hadn’t_ happened for him, for the things Steve couldn’t protect him from. For the fact that Steve never really got to know him – even for the fact that Bucky had to go on without him, now.

 

And he recognised… he could just be sad, for all of that.

 

He could wish things had worked out differently for another Bucky. He could even wish that he _could_ go back, just to be with him, a childhood friend among the team he still had. He could wish there weren’t any downsides to that plan, he could wish that things were simpler.

 

But it didn’t make it a good idea to go back.

 

And that was so obvious a revelation it was almost embarrassing… but he _had_ gone into an awful lot of battles because it just _had_ to work. Because he wanted an outcome so dearly, or wanted to avoid a consequence, or because there was no time for complicated

 

_We don’t trade lives._

Hm. Not that he’d necessarily changed his mind about that – but, suddenly, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever made up his mind in the first place. He wasn’t sure what moral framework he’d been referring to when he said that, or what he thought would happen if he refused to trade lives, or whether that would be worse… they just _couldn’t_ trade lives, and that had been enough.

 

He could so easily imagine himself spiralling now. Thinking about another version of Bucky until he felt guilty and sympathetic enough that it made a bad plan good. Until he could convince himself that he simply _had_ to go back, so there was no point debating it.

 

And then, when he _got_ back, he’d have spent a lifetime thinking about the Bucky he abandoned here. His heart would have broken for the Tony he’d left behind. He would’ve tormented himself thinking about what the team became without him – what it _could_ have been, if he’d stayed. He would have thought all the things he should have thought before he left, after it was too late. And he would probably have watched Bucky make friends and find a home and build a life, and wondered if he really had to sacrifice _everything_ to be there. He already knew, if he could ask, 2023 Bucky would tell him to stay here. That he’d be just fine, that another Bucky needed him now, that Steve deserved to be happy. Bucky – the only one he knew, at least – had been forever telling him that.

 

_You didn’t do it this time_.

 

And he really wasn’t thinking about leaving, not even hypothetically – even if parts of it _were_ sad. This wasn’t the result of a breakdown or a breakthrough or a wave of exhaustion or anything else. This was something he really had decided… Steve was almost relieved _himself_ , to recognise that.

 

He looked at Bucky again. The person he knew. The person he’d been missing for most of the last fifteen years. He smiled, and stood up, and placed a gentle hand on the surface of the container before he left the room.

 

_We’ll get to talk again, soon._

 

But, as it couldn’t be tonight, Steve wanted to be with Tony.

 

He bounded down the stairs, intending to cut across the living room just as quickly, thinking only of getting to Tony’s workshop-

 

And then he saw that Nat hadn’t made it as far as the bedroom, and had actually crashed out on the couch.

 

At first, Steve hesitated because he didn’t want to wake her, thinking that he’d just have to creep passed a little more softly… but as he made his way passed the guestroom door, a thought occurred to him. And a memory, like a song,

 

_I promise, I’ll always look after you, just don’t leave, never leave…_

 

And so, Steve decided to slip into what had once been his bedroom, to collect something, on his way.

 

 

When Steve got to the workshop Tony was obviously completely immersed in his work, gazing up at an endless stream of numbers, his lips moving subtly as he talked through theories in his head…

 

Steve was happy just to watch him, for a while.

 

And he couldn’t help remembering the last time he came to find Tony in his workshop, how hopeless and desperate and devastated he was, how he’d _resented_ Tony for making it all harder simply by being wonderful. Steve actually liked remembering it. There was a perverse pleasure in making the comparison, in thinking of just how _much_ better everything was now-

 

And then Tony turned, and his eye caught on Steve, and he _smiled_ …

 

And then he saw the little blue pouch in Steve’s hand, and the smile immediately vanished. Steve knew, Tony knew what it contained. He saw Tony take a brave little breath, and Steve’s heart broke for him in that second.

 

But it was only going to be a second. And then Tony was never going to go through this again – _that_ was the point.

 

“So, I _was_ thinking of coming in and just smashing this to pieces” Steve leapt in, wanting to get to the point as quickly as possible. “Maybe make a big romantic gesture of it… but then that seemed a bit dramatic, and kind of ridiculous, and I don’t know, I’d probably end up smashing a black hole into existence or something. So.” He could see Tony listening to him so intently, still in crisis mode, frowning as he tried to work out what Steve was really telling him.

 

And then Steve reached out and took Tony’s hand, and put the pouch into it, and closed Tony’s hand around it.

 

“I don’t want to have this, anymore.”

 

Tony’s shoulders slumped, his eyes falling shut with relief. And then he took a steadying breath, and looked from the pouch to Steve, and gave his head a little shake, _I’m sorry, I thought…_

 

But Steve knew exactly what Tony thought. Tony had seen that little bag, the little time travel GPS and the remaining Pym Particle, and assumed he was about to go through it all again. That Steve had changed his mind, that _I’ve got to go_ had changed into _I’m never leaving_ and right back again. And the idea made Steve’s blood run cold. He couldn’t bear the idea of Tony always being on edge, of him being scared to say the wrong thing in case Steve threw himself into the abyss, of him always waiting, wondering… He didn’t want Tony to ever beg him not to leave, even in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want Tony to think of that as a possibility, anymore. And Steve didn’t want to live like that. He really _didn’t_ want that time travel kit – he was never going to use it, so all it could ever do was look at him ominously from the corner of the room. And he wanted Tony to _know_ –

 

_I have chosen you._

“And this isn’t me making you _responsible_ for it, by the way” Steve clarified, his hand still on Tony’s. “This isn’t me asking you to take care of it for me, or for you to decide if I can use it or… anything slightly creepy sounding like that. This is just because I don’t know the best way to destroy the damn thing. This is me telling you that I am _really_ never leaving, that I don’t even want that to be an option anymore – that I never want you to worry about that ever again. Whatever else happens to us, you should never have to think I’ll go jumping into time, we’re going to be just like anyone else. So, you can smash it, or deconstruct it, or throw it into the ocean-”

 

“We could give it to him.” Tony cut in, his voice still slightly dazed. Steve stopped, baffled.

“… to who?”

“The other you, the one who’s out in the ice.” Tony explained, and then, when Steve just frowned at him. “I mean… if you’re _sure_ you don’t ever want to see it again… if you gave it to the other you, he could go straight back to the era he just came from, and you wouldn’t have to worry about there being two of you…”

 

Steve thought about it.

 

Steve pictured it.

 

Steve opened his mouth to point out a problem, or ask a question… but…

 

Okay, _he_ wouldn’t want to go back to the forties now – he’d be as out of place in the past as he had been in the future, and he’d spend all his time thinking of the friends he left behind…. But that wouldn’t apply to the other him. He _remembered_ well enough that, when he first came out of the ice, _all_ he wanted was to go home. _He_ would be the same man that just left, able to step right back into the life he’d left behind…

 

And if it really was just creating another reality, in place of one that wasn’t necessarily meant to be… if Peggy wasn’t _meant_ to marry another person or have specific children in any given reality… if that had already happened to his Peggy, regardless of what happened to another version of her now…

 

And Steve _didn’t_ want there to be two of them here. It wasn’t quite the cause of existential terror that it was, but it was still uncomfortable, and he’d have liked very much if that issue could just _go away…_

 

And the other version of him would be _delighted_ – especially when they told him that Bucky was still alive, and that Steve had the chance to go back and save him…

 

Steve didn’t know anything about the structure of time, or the Infinity Crisis, at that point.

 

In _that_ moment, there really _wasn’t_ a downside to this plan.

 

“Okay, so now I’m really glad I didn’t smash it.” Steve agreed, a bit breathless now. Tony giggled.

“Well, it’s an idea…” He brushed it off, putting the little blue pouch down very carefully on the workbench. “We can maybe talk about it with the team later…” and looked back at Steve, his gaze falling immediately to his lips.

 

And, to be fair, Tony was right – there were other things Steve wanted to focus on, right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... now that it's not a spoiler to say that Steve is staying - 
> 
> why yes, I do basically intend to retell the whole MCU, but if Steve had had a chance to sort his shit out first. Just so you know what you're getting yourself into... 
> 
> So, if you want, you can think of this as a self contained story about how Steve found himself and found happiness in an alternate reality... but if you're in for the long haul... now begins a retelling of the whole thing (not all in this much detail, I swear) but with the Infinity Crisis and Strange's prophesy in place of Thanos as the BIG BAD... and a lot of happy family avenger time in the tower, because that's what I wanted the first time around.
> 
> Ambitious, I know - but endgame kind of broke me, so it has to be done.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for coming this far, I really hope you stick with it, and feedback is love :-)


	16. Chapter 16

Steve and Tony were given a warmer welcome the second time they visited Wakanda.

 

It helped that this time they were here by invitation. Steve had called T’Chaka earlier in the week, with a rough outline of the plan and an offer of co-operation. He’d _enjoyed_ that conversation, actually. It was so rare, to be able to negotiate a positive way forward, without any of the nasty stuff. This time there was no need to conceal information, no need to maintain an advantage, nothing to threaten or defend against. Even if Wakanda wanted no part of things, The Avengers still wanted to keep them informed – which was a courtesy T’Chaka greatly appreciated. Steve had ended that conversation with a sense of professional pride, and a feeling of optimism, and he realised it had been a long time since he really _enjoyed_ his work.

 

This time, when they arrived at the palace, they were expected. The people who had begrudgingly accepted their story last time had since had a few months to think about it, to remember that they’d actually been pretty respectful, even likable, when they were here before… to recognise that neither of them had said a word to anyone about Wakanda. Tony hadn’t even publicly announced that his chest was fixed now, just in case anyone looked too deeply into how it had happened. That had apparently counted for a lot, at the palace. There were still a few less than subtle glances as they were shown through to the reception room, Steve assumed because they both stood out so much – but this time they came with smiles, or professional nods, and without the suspicious whispers.

 

T’Chaka was already there, with T’Challa and Shuri – who obviously remembered the funny American who’d been so nice to her before. She beamed when she saw Tony, and, of course, it was Shuri that Tony spoke to first.

“Well, you’ve grown a foot since I last saw you” He commented lightly.

“No, I had two feet the last time you saw me” Shuri retorted, proudly, and Tony grinned before he winced, theatrically.

“Oh, be careful with that joke, it’s an antique” He mocked, affectionately, and Shuri laughed. And Steve saw T’Challa and T’Chaka give Tony that warm smile reserved for people who are kind to your loved ones.

“Thank you for having us again.” Steve addressed T’Chaka, extending a hand.

“The pleasure is ours” T’Chaka assured him, and T’Challa simply nodded. He already had the air of a statesman, Steve noted.

 

“I’ve arranged a meeting of the council for this afternoon” T’Chaka deftly turned the conversation to business, “In the meantime, I’ll call for someone to show you to your quarters-”

“I’ll do it” Shuri offered, with all the irrepressible energy of an eight-year-old. T’Chaka smiled indulgently at her candour,

“My daughter will personally escort you to your quarters, apparently” He corrected, amused. Tony pulled an impressed face, gave Steve an exaggerated elbow to the ribs and whispered _royal escort_ loudly enough for Shuri to hear it. “And I’ll make sure someone calls for you before the meeting.”

“Perfect, thank you” Tony told him, as Shuri bounced on the balls of her feet, impatiently waiting for them to follow. Tony looked back at her and gestured, _lead the way._

 

For most of the walk, Steve was happy to watch as Tony listened oh-so-seriously to Shuri’s chatter, and answered her questions as though he was talking to an adult. When she asked how his heart was, he talked about arrythmia and fibrillation and cardiac arrests, and she just followed along, obviously fascinated. When she asked what they were there for, Tony called it a _covert diplomatic enterprise,_ and her eyes had widened excitedly when she asked _what, like spy stuff_? Sort of, Tony had told her, with a conspiratorial smile. And Steve smiled too, just because it was nice to watch…

 

Until it occurred to him that he might never watch Tony do this with a child of his own.

 

Until he remembered… he wasn’t sure he _could_ have kids of his own, knowing what he did about the nature of time.

 

Even though Steve felt so much better about all the philosophical stuff now, even if he was managing it all so much better… he still wasn’t sure he could bring a child into it. Steve knew he’d never be able to look at his own kid and say _I can’t imagine a world without you_. He couldn’t countenance _knowing_ that he once mourned the world in which his own children never existed, that he’d thought of an alternative reality as the ‘right one’.

 

He _had_ talked to Tony about this – and there was still a strange little flutter of elation, every time he remembered that he didn’t have to worry about secrets, at least. He absolutely _knew_ that, if he was the same person he’d been a few weeks ago, this was exactly the sort of issue he’d be nursing on his own. Scared about ruining things, or disappointing Tony, hoping the whole thing went away on its own… and feeling terrible in the meantime. But he’d actually talked to Tony about not wanting kids, he’d explained all of these fears almost as soon as he’d realised them. And Tony had just listened, kindly, and eventually told Steve,

“To be honest, I’d never really thought about having kids, before you came here from a reality where I already had one – before Afghanistan, I’d have told you it was obviously never going to happen.”

“…I don’t know if this is something I’m going to be able to change my mind over, though…” Steve had sighed, sadly, and Tony just shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I _meant_ that it’s not a deal breaker, for me. It’s not as though I’ve been thinking about being a dad my whole life, or that I can’t imagine my life without kids in it. I’ve basically never imagined my life _with_ kids in it, not really. So, you know, even if it’s one thing that would’ve made me happy, it’s not the only thing – I have no regrets about choosing to grow old with you, whatever happens.” After which, they’d just held each other for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry” Steve went on eventually, “I know none of those reasons make any sense, really – because I do know this world is real, and I do care about the people in it, and… I don’t know if this feeling makes any sense as part of that. It _is_ just a feeling-”

“Hey, Steve, sometimes feelings _are_ what matters” Tony had reassured “You don’t owe a logical explanation for everything – sometimes ‘I just don’t want to’ _is_ okay.” So Steve had kissed him, and felt mostly good about a sad conversation.

 

Of course, it seemed sadder now that he was watching Tony actually talk to a child. Thinking of how much Tony loved being a parent, whether he would ever know it. Thinking of how _good_ Tony was at that, better suited to it than any other role he’d taken on. Thinking of how much Steve had wanted to be the father of Tony’s children once, remembering a timeline in which that had been a magical, _impossible_ happy ending…

 

…would he _really_ never change his mind about this?

 

Steve smiled again. If nothing else, it was nice to think he could.

 

*

 

A few hours later, and Steve was standing at the front of a conference room, feeling a little bit like he was about to give his final presentation to the class. Tony had a faintly amused smile, as though he’d had the same idea… but at least the gathered Wakandan officials looked friendlier than his teachers were.

 

Obviously, everyone in the room knew what SHIELD was – or, at least, what SHIED said they were. So, Steve skipped straight to explaining what had happened behind the scenes since Operation Paperclip, and the enemy they were now facing. He ran through what The Avengers had done so far, including a brief summary of the situation with Bucky and an offer to share the files they had already backed up.

 

And then he got to the real reason for their visit – a complete explanation of the next stage in the plan.

 

Because, yes, it would have been ideal if they could partner with Wakanda in some way. Yes, it was only courteous to share this information with allies, especially allies you owed such a huge personal debt. But, mainly, Steve wanted to make it perfectly clear, from the very outset-

 

“So, you’ll be _pretending_ you work for Hydra?” T’Chaka clarified – with the same sceptical squint that everybody wore, when they first heard this idea.

“…I’m going to be telling Pierce that Hydra sent me back, even though it isn’t true.” Steve confirmed, “I’ve no intention of taking any missions he gives me now – not unless we’re _sure_ I can sabotage them from the inside, in which case, we’d keep you informed”

 

Because the one thing that bothered Steve about this phase two plan was the idea that someone he cared about would actually believe it. That Sam, or Bruce, or any of the others, would get to hear about his treachery and espionage before he had a chance to explain where all that evidence really came from. His real priority here was making sure that everyone in Wakanda knew, _don’t believe what you hear about me, whatever proof there seems to be._

 

The look on T’Chaka’s face told him he needn’t have bothered.

 

“And you expect Mr Pierce to believe that…?” He pressed gently, clearly trying not to be rude.

“He does a surprisingly convincing Cold Bastard bit, as long as he hasn’t actually got to be a bastard” Tony assured, sounding somewhat proud “Korda absolutely believed him, before he had to watch his best friend get electrocuted”

“And if Hydra _do_ expect you to witness or co-operate with behaviour you cannot countenance,” T’Chaka switched his attention between Steve and Tony now “how do you expect to maintain your cover?”

“Well, last time Clint just shot the guy.” Tony explained, casually, “But I think it would depend on the particular circumstances.”

“And we _were_ planning to have them securely detained” Steve added, biting back a smile at Tony’s breezy delivery “It’s just that _they_ blew the building up… But, yeah, I’d say our team is going to win any fight we’re forced into, one way or the other. We’re just hoping we can get as much information out of them as possible without it coming to that.”

“ _And_ , if Cap can talk himself into the heart of the operation, we can get the information we need in a matter of weeks” Tony went on “we only need him to get close enough to install our software – the data transfer is mainly automated.”

 

T’Chaka and his team took a few moments to consider this. Steve glanced over at Tony, and Tony flashed a reassuring little smile, _you’re doing great baby._

 

“And how much thought have you given to what comes afterwards?” T’Challa joined in now – and both Steve and Tony snorted a soft little laugh.

“ _A lot_ ” Tony confirmed, knowingly.

 

It had been nearly eight weeks since they first brought Bucky home, and since then they’d all spent the vast majority of their time in Tony’s lounge – debating. Two months of group discussions, most of which had been about what came after SHIELD. They’d been frustrating conversations, hours in which they’d unpacked just how many layers there are to an organisation that size, how many loose ends there would be, how many components they’d have to replace and all the ongoing projects they’d have to safeguard… But they’d been good discussions, too. Practical conversations, in which they worked together and listened to each other and tried to move things forward. Far better than the days when Steve and another version of Tony would just shout ideologies at one another in front of the team. As a result of which, Steve could now reach into the bag by his feet and pull out several copies of the same spiral bound report.

 

“I know paper copies is a bit retro” He explained, apologetically, as he passed them out. “But if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that it’s _really_ hard to intercept files if they’re only kept on paper. And obviously these plans have to stay confidential…”

 

There was no title page, and very few explanatory notes, but those reports contained the outline for a whole new SHIELD. Suggested structures, people who could be trusted to take on specific roles, organisational timelines… It was nowhere near as huge or comprehensive as what SHIELD had become, but it was better than what SHIELD started out as. And a hell of a lot better than the mess left after they took SHIELD down the first time. Immodest though it may be, Steve couldn’t help thinking they’d done really good work on this.

 

The gallery of impressed faces in the room told him he was right.

  

“…but one of the main reasons for us being here is so that you can have some input” Steve went on, when it looked as though everyone had finished reading. “And, if you can see any place for Wakanda in this whole plan, then great, we’re happy to talk about _how_ that could work… but, even if you just want to stay separate from all of this, like you were, it’d still be great to hear any ideas you have about it.”

 

T’Chaka smiled at him, and contemplated the report for another moment before he spoke.

 

“Obviously, we will need time to fully consider these plans before we can give you any answers” He said, and both Steve and Tony nodded, _of course_. “But, as an initial impression… I would say that we’d be wrong to dismiss any sort of co-operation out of hand – _assuming_ that Wakanda’s situation is kept in mind.” Again, Steve and Tony just nodded. “And I’m sure, either way, there will be many ideas for you to consider.”

 

Steve let go of a relieved breath, just like he used to when the teacher told him he could sit down. And then, while he was thinking about how to wind the meeting down and what else they wanted to do in the two days they were here, T’Chaka looked at him again.

“And how _is_ your friend recovering?” He enquired, kindly. And Steve felt an entirely different surge of relief.

 

Steve had been wondering how to raise the topic of Bucky’s recovery – if he even should. He didn’t want T’Chaka to think that they were using Wakanda as their own private hospital, or to worry that every ‘broken white boy’ would end up getting dropped on his doorstep. And, for the time being, they seemed to be handling things reasonably well at Tony’s house… But Steve was still very pleased that T’Chaka seemed ready to _offer_ their help. Even a second opinion was a great comfort, at this stage.

 

“It looks like he’s doing well.” Steve smiled “Not that we know a lot about what exactly he’s recovering _from_ … but there’s some progress. Tony could tell you more about it.” And Steve looked over to his boyfriend, and saw the slightest hint of a blush…

“He’s still being kept in cryo-freeze for most of the day – although we are waking him up every day, and for longer each time” Tony spoke more professionally than he usually would, and Steve felt a smile tugging at his lips “It seems like easing him into things is more productive than trying to force anything. But his neurological scans are all good, what actual tissue damage there is seems minor, and it seems to be healing. He’s aware of his surroundings and responds correctly to all the reflexive tests. And, _as far as we can tell_ , he _is_ beginning to think as himself. He obviously recognises Steve, and he _does_ talk to him as Steve… and not always because I’ve told him to, now…” Tony trailed off, clearly self-conscious.

 

Steve had to look away to stop himself from grinning.

 

Of course, Steve hated that this made Tony uncomfortable. And he understood _why_ it made Tony uncomfortable, and he knew better than to try to make light of it, or look as though he found it funny – which he didn’t.

 

He just couldn’t help the fact that, for him personally, he _liked_ that Bucky seemed to have bonded to Tony.

 

For the first few weeks, Bucky would _only_ answer Tony. Tony’s voice was the only one he heard, the only one he would acknowledge. And it was obvious to everyone that it was simply a neurological quirk, a direct consequence of Tony being the last person to trigger the Winter Solider. A modified part of Bucky’s brain, responding to a prompt exactly as it had been programmed – a component they were actively trying to remove. Everyone said it… well, mostly _Tony_ said it… but it really wasn’t as though there was anything special about Tony, or any personal reason for this connection. At least, not at first.

 

But, recently, Steve couldn’t help seeing the way that Tony made Bucky _feel_ safe. Even if it was just a fluke of circumstances, the response had become human and real. Tony provided a sort of bridge for Bucky, a point of reference between two worlds. Steve had seen it in his eyes, when Tony had reassured him, _no, it’s okay, it’s Steve, you can talk to him_ … The little flutter of human panic as Bucky began to process that he _might_ really be Bucky Barnes… Or was he still the Winter Solider…which of these worlds was a dream, or a trick… and then he’d look at Tony, as though Tony was the person he could listen to either way. Either Steve was real, in which case he could listen to Steve’s friend, or he was still loyal to Hydra, in which case he should follow his commands. For a long time, Bucky would only talk to Steve if Tony said he could.

 

And, of course, that made Tony uncomfortable. _Buuuuut…_ it did also mean he really cared, now. Not just because Bucky was Steve’s friend, or because Bucky was a person he could save. Tony was responsible for Bucky now, whether he intended it or not. He _felt_ that responsibility to get this right. It made him really listen to Bucky, it made him genuinely worry if Bucky seemed anxious or unsettled, it meant he felt a wave of his _own_ relief when Bucky seemed to respond well to something. After a while, Steve noticed Tony checking Bucky’s reports in an entirely different way, looking for things Steve wouldn’t have known to worry about – because he wasn’t just checking for Steve anymore.

 

And Bucky thinking of Tony as a safe place… and Tony wanting to take care of Bucky… it was all so different from the first time around that, yes, Steve did want to smile.

 

But, thinking of Tony’s feelings, he stopped himself. He even stepped in to explain the whole ‘bonding’ part of the story, so that Tony didn’t have to. No one from the Wakandan side of the delegation seemed especially surprised by the development. T’Chaka just listened, glanced to one of the team standing behind him, and then turned to address Tony.

 

“I know my medical team would like to see how you are progressing, following their intervention. Perhaps, while you are with them, you could give them a few more details about Mr Barnes. They might have some advice for you”

 

 

Tony skipped into their room later that evening like a kid with a good report card.

 

 _A perfect bill of health_ , he announced gleefully. Lungs of a twenty-year-old, absolutely ideal cardiac reports. It looked as though Wakandan intervention had even undone some of the damage he’d inflicted on himself in his party days.

 

Steve was just as overwhelmed, placing his palm to the centre of Tony’s chest as Tony babbled happily about ECG readouts and advanced lung capacity tests. The technical details went over Steve’s head, but only because those weren’t the details that interested him. It was looking at Tony’s body, just a little bit leaner and stronger than it had been when Steve first met him. It was seeing the way his skin glowed now, the way his eyes burned even brighter than they had – not that Steve would have ever thought that was possible. It was knowing the way Tony moved now, the extra energy he had, the fact that he didn’t keep putting his hand to his chest or stopping to take a deep breath, the way he had before. Little tics that’d been so commonplace that Steve had barely noticed them, in the first timeline. All the little ways Steve had to know that Tony was just so much healthier now.

 

Steve pulled Tony into him with all the joy and hope he felt about the world.

 

It was the pure pleasure of knowing that Tony was safe, and well, and _happy_. That there was no reason to stop making him happy, no reason Steve ever had to leave him, nothing Tony wanted that Steve didn’t _want_ to give him.

 

It was the elation and liberation of a plan that was going _right,_ for a change. Knowing he’d already thought about the consequences, that he’d asked for other opinions – that he wasn’t just sitting here _hoping_ the bad outcome wouldn’t happen, like a child.

 

It was the pride in watching Tony at his absolute best, the way he took every advantage and made it into ten times as much, just how much he’d given in return for a little bit more love and support. Steve loved everything Tony was, and everything he was growing into, and somehow he managed to love him more every day-

 

And Tony was his.

 

Tony let Steve kiss him.

Tony _wanted_ Steve to kiss him.

 

And as Steve finally got to push Tony’s shirt back over his shoulders, and feel for himself how flawless Tony’s chest was, the thought occurred to him.

 

 _I would have done it ten times over, for this_.

 

Of course, by then he was far too lost in Tony to remember what he’d been through, specifically. He didn’t know the words for everything he had now. But he knew it was as happy as he’d ever been, as complete as he’d ever been… that this was _right_. This was _it_ , everything he’d ever wanted, the illusive, indescribable _peace_ he’d been looking for all of his life. Steve had found his happily ever after.

 

Now, he wanted to live it.


	17. 2011

****

 

**January**

 

When Steve woke up, he saw stars.

 

Or, no… sparkles…

 

A twinkling, silver filter over everything in the room…

 

Oh yeah. He was covered in glitter.

 

He stifled a giggle, thinking back to the sheer _silliness_ of the night before. To Nat, laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe, while Steve did his best to get in the middle of a _glitter fight_ between Clint and Tony. A fight that only ended when all three of them were laughing too much to stand up anymore.

 

He glanced over to Tony, sleeping soundly just beside him. He almost giggled again when he saw just how sparkly Tony still was. And then he remembered the way Tony’s skin had shimmered while they were standing on the balcony, the way the light from the fireworks had caught on the glitter in his hair. He remembered Tony leaning in and kissing him so sweetly as the city below them shouted _happy new year!_

 

Steve’s laughter melted into a contented smile, while he waited for Tony to wake up.

 

It wasn’t long before Tony stirred, groaning softly. He hadn’t been particularly drunk the night before, but he also hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours, and he clearly didn’t want to wake up yet… And then Steve watched Tony lick his lips, a look of confusion troubling his sleepy features as he tried to work out what the metallic taste was… why everything was shiny…

 

“Why am I covered in glitter?” He murmured, still trying to spit it out.

“Because you told Clint it was impossible to accurately aim a handful of glitter, scientifically speaking” Steve reminded him, grinning again. “Too many environmental variables, or something.” He watched Tony smile as it came back to him.

“Was I right?”

“Er…well, Clint _did_ manage to hit you with quite a lot of glitter, but then, he did also hit everything else…”

“Yeah, I was right.” Tony decided, smugly, his eyes falling shut again. “…You’re waking Bucky up this morning.”

 

They _had_ invited Bucky to the party. Tony was especially sweet in thinking of ways they could make it more comfortable for him, if he’d wanted to come. But Bucky had decided that an evening full of sudden noises and exploding lights was probably a bit beyond him, so in the end it had been a cryo-freeze night. As the only person guaranteed not to wake up with a hangover, Steve had responsibilities for all morning duties today, including taking care of Bucky. Thinking about it, he’d been responsible for taking care of Bucky the last time they’d spent New Years Eve together… although that time it was because Bucky had lost a drinking competition with Gabe Jones and passed out on a tower of sandbags…

 

Maybe next year he’d get to spend New Years with Bucky for real. As of right now…

 

“I know, I’m getting him up at nine.” Steve assured Tony, smiling. And then he wriggled closer to him, and placed a gentle hand on his hip. “…but it’s nowhere near nine, yet.”

 

Tony smiled, and opened his eyes.

 

*

 

It was a bland, grey day in the third week on January, when Steve received an e-mail that would change everything.

 

Just three lines, from an account without a name.

 

_It seems that we can trust whoever you trust – and we trust you to keep it at that._

_We agree that your first plan is the one with merit, and that your structure is sound._

_Come the time, all will be in place._

 

And Steve broke into a smile that he could feel in his chest.

 

It was one thing to have the backing of a team of Avengers. No small thing. A team of Avengers was enough to save the earth, after all.

 

But having the backing of _Wakanda_ was a different level of security entirely. Steve had hardly dared to think about it, since he’d made the original pitch last November – he was worried it would feel like a disappointment, if T’Chaka declined. But, the original image they’d had, a real partnership with Wakanda… it was so rich with possibility. And the idea of a shadow team being put together in Wakanda, without the subterfuge – a highly capable team who could be openly recruited and trained to step into a new SHIELD, when asked… It gave the whole plan an entirely different gravitas, a different scope and scale. It was an advantage unlike anything they’d had, in the first timeline… a chance to take a genuine diversion, to make the team into something completely new.

 

That was exactly the sort of thing that used to terrify him. And now, reading the previously agreed signal for, _yes, everything you’d hoped for…_ That’s all it felt like. Just hope.

 

And the fact that T’Chaka _trusted whoever they trusted_ – Steve knew what that meant. He knew he could tell the others now, and that meant the world to him.

 

He raced up the stairs to tell Natasha, like a kid running to show his mom a drawing he was proud of.

 

**February**

 

Steve had to give Pierce credit for how cool he managed to play it. He’d walked back into his office after lunch to find Captain America sitting at his desk, and his response was simply to pause and raise his eyebrows.

 

Steve, by contrast, flashed Pierce a broad grin. Instinctively slipping into the same character he’d played with Nick for those first few days. Partly, because he knew this persona unsettled people – it wasn’t what they expected, they weren’t sure how to categorise it, or how to respond… and that was always a good start, when you’re playing mind games with the enemy. Of course, partly, it was because it was fun.

 

“Captain.” Peirce spoke first, keeping his tone formal in spite of Steve’s overtly casual attitude. “It’s an honour to meet you at last.”

“You’re a fan, are you?” Steve smirked, knowingly.

“A great admirer, of course.” Peirce assured him, taking a step closer to his desk. “I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since you first appeared in Monaco” This was all a show, obviously. To demonstrate that Peirce knew exactly who Steve was, and how long he’d been here. So, Steve affected an amused, superior expression, _you think that’s when I turned up, huh…? _Just his next move in the intricate game they were playing.

“You should have come to visit” He said instead, leaning back in Peirce’s chair. “You know where I’m staying.”

“Well, I think we should at least be properly introduced before I go making house calls” Pierce responded with a salesman’s smile, extending his hand – a ploy to make Steve stand up, and Steve knew it. “Alexander Pierce”

“Steve Rogers” And Steve stood up anyway, accepting Peirce’s hand warmly, and smiling for a just a second before he added, “Hail Hydra.”

 

Again, Peirce’s control was remarkable. The little straightening of the lips was almost imperceptible, the flash of focus in his eyes was covered almost as soon as it was there. Steve laughed.

 

“Too slow, Peirce” He grinned, walking lazily around the desk so that Peirce could have his seat back. “You taught me that, you know. _Always remember that the other side are outraged immediately._ ”

“The other side?” Peirce queried, slowly sinking into his chair.

“If I’d said Hail Hydra to Nick Fury, he’d have looked at me like I’d just hit him with a fish. Or flat out asked me what the hell that means. Because he’s _actually_ on the other side, so he acts like someone on the other side would act. You aren’t – and _you’re_ acting like you’re stalling for time. Until you can work out whether it’s safe to tell me that or not” Steve saw Peirce’s shoulders drop, his face softening into a more neutral expression.

“And _I_ taught you that, did I?” He asked, eventually. And Steve made himself think of the most tender memories he had, all the people he actually loved and thought highly of, just so his face would soften into the right expression when he said,

 

“You saved my life.”

 

Peirce had apparently given up playing it cool, and allowed himself to look surprised by that.

 

“And when am I supposed to have done that?” He managed, after a beat.

“Well, the first time was in 2014” Steve told him, casually. “But I didn’t actually get to know you then. I didn’t really get to know you until after Operation Insight… you were older, then…”

 

Steve gave Peirce a full minute to filter through all the details. He could practically _see_ it all lining up in his head… _he’s from the future… he knows about Operation Insight…he knows an older me…_

 

“You’re telling me that Captain America worked for Hydra.” Peirce spoke in a level voice, his eyes locked on Steve. Steve just laughed again.

“Because, what, _Captain America stands for everything we don’t_ ” His tone was affectionately mocking now. “That’s not what you said the first time.”

“The first time?”

“When you first recruited me. After Hydra pulled me out of the wreckage that SHIELD were happy for me to die in… You seemed to think I was a perfect fit for the organisation, right from the start. No one _else_ thought that, of course – I didn’t think that, obviously.” Another laugh “I said, surely, I’m the opposite of Hydra… but you thought different.” He sighed, as though recalling a fond memory. And then he finally sat down in the chair on the opposite side of Peirce’s desk. “You know, by the time I was pulled out of the ice, SHIELD was probably responsible for as many deaths as Operation Insight. Except those people were chosen to die because they stood in SHIELDs way, with no regard for their relative value to the world, one way or the other” And Steve gave an exaggerated shrug, _madness, eh?_

 

“So why are you here?” Peirce asked, more professionally now.

“Here in your office? Just wanted to see you” Steve answered, cheerfully. Peirce raised his eyebrows “Well, I’ve almost finished with everything that Hydra sent me back to do, and I won’t be hanging around after I’ve got everything I need, so I figured why not drop in on my mentors former self, while I can?” He saw Peirce’s eyes widen a little at the word _mentor_ , “It’s the fun side of time travel missions. So. Hi”

 

“So, what _did_ we sent you back to do?” Peirce enquired, and Steve wrinkled his nose.

“Hm. I shouldn’t really.” He said, as though he was considering it anyway “If I tell you too much, it might change the future – and it worked out pretty well for us the first time around. Not that it matters much to _me_. My timeline is my timeline whatever happens…” and he fixed Peirce with a challenging look, _are you sure you really want to know?_ And he did have a whole cover story prepared, just in case – but he’d always been pretty sure that Peirce would shake his head, exactly as he did. And with that, Steve stood up to leave.

“You’re going?” Peirce sounded genuinely disappointed. Steve smiled at him, softly.

“Something I have to do.” He did his best to sound disappointed too. “But if I get a chance, I’ll stop by and see you again before I go.” He turned and walked for the door, waiting until he had his hand on the handle before he turned to say, “Hail Hydra.” And Peirce nodded.

 

“Hail Hydra.”

 

*

 

Steve was standing in the kitchen making coffee when Tony walked up behind him and looped his arms lazily around his waist.

 

“Hey, you” Steve smiled, as Tony let his head fall onto his shoulder “How’d the meeting go?”

“Wellll…. It depends on how you want to look at it.” Tony answered, playfully, and Steve turned around to face him. “ _Either_ , I just got you the most extravagant Valentines day gift ever – _or_ , I just signed off on a very sensible business real estate investment, and I didn’t get you anything.”

“You _said_ you didn’t do Valentines day, on a point of principle” Steve reminded him, blushing.

“Good point.” Tony grinned “In that case, I just signed off on a very sensible real estate investment. And I didn’t get you anything.”

 

And with that, Tony took a step away from Steve and nodded towards the plasma screen on the back wall. It was already displaying what looked like a copy of a contract. Steve immediately recognised Tony’s signature at the bottom, but for a good few minutes the rest meant nothing to him. He had to read through the legalese several times before he could convince himself of what he was looking at.

 

“You’ve bought The Tower?” He frowned, eventually.

“Well, I’ve transferred ownership of the Tower from Stark Industries to my personal portfolio – it’s a whole big legal thing” Tony shrugged “The only difference it makes is that… we can use it however we want now, without having to explain it to a bunch of shareholders.”

 

And suddenly Steve was picturing The Tower, remembering all the nearby bars and bodegas, all the people he’d see in the area, whose names he’d never known but whose faces he’d still recognise…

 

_Home._

 

He’d just accepted that they wouldn’t end up in the Tower, this time around. He’d already changed the order of events so much, even down to Tony’s business dealings... It would have taken a lot of careful politicking to bring that building back into a business plan that had developed without it… Especially without telling anyone what he wanted it for.

 

“Because it’s a very sensible real estate investment?” Steve’s voice came out as a whisper, he was suddenly so emotional.

“It’s basically the only acceptable base for The Avengers, once we’re really up and running” Tony smiled. “So, that makes it cheap at the price, doesn’t it?”

 

**March**

 

Steve had been to this house once before.

 

Right after Siberia, when his little team was still heading up every news bulletin and being discussed on every panel show. Back when there was no motel they could’ve walked into, however remote, no store or shelter they could have gone to for supplies without being recognised. When all else fails and there is nowhere else you can turn, you go to your mom.

 

Sam was one of the few people Steve knew that still had one.

 

Steve knew the house hadn’t changed at all since the last time he saw it – but it looked completely different, now. The last time he’d been here, Steve was numb to everything, exhausted by misery and overwhelmed by regret. Entirely devoid of hope. Looking at it now, the house looked brighter and more colourful. More full of life.

 

Right now, Sam was home on leave, watching the news coverage of the Tōhoku earthquake with his mom. A memory that he would have shared with Steve six years later, that had let Steve know where to find him now. Strange how those things worked out…

 

Steve paused to remember that he didn’t know _how_ this was going to work out, now.

 

He was getting much better at dealing with that. He’d stopped thinking of any specific version of events as the ‘right’ one, and he’d accepted that he couldn’t be held responsible for every new development in the world… but he still felt more responsible than most people. Unlike most people, he knew exactly which story he was erasing by being here. He _knew_ that if he walked away now, Riley would die, and Sam would leave the military, and find his new calling in life. And he knew that, once he’d warned Sam exactly what was going to happen to Riley, everything afterwards would be a mystery.

 

Who knew what Sam would become, when he hadn’t watched his best friend fall from the sky. When he didn’t have to do it all without him.

 

Steve smiled to himself, and walked up to the front door.

 

*

 

Everyone was lounging on the couches in Tony’s living room, looking more like they were hanging in the dorms than taking part in a team meeting.

 

In fairness, this wasn’t one of their more important meetings. When they all gathered to discuss the next steps of ‘the plan’ or to debate the future of The Avengers, they tended to be more animated. At the very least, they all sat up properly. But for the in-between, base-touching meetings, they were a bit more laid back. Afternoons like this were only booked in so they could share their various updates… and, honestly, as an excuse for everyone to get together.

 

Bucky had started sitting in on these little gatherings. He still didn’t say much, but it was nice to watch him listening, to see him melt into the general picture of the team. Today, he was sitting with Clint, Maria and Nat on one of the couches, while Tony curled up against Steve’s chest on the other. Nick was standing in the space in between, where the coffee table usually was, reeling off the latest SHIELD news in a bored tone of voice. Recent resignations, changes in structure, projects that had been started or ended – any notable incidents, since the last meeting.

 

“…We also had an agent injured in what was probably a personal thing.” Nick droned on, as keen to get to the end as anyone “Nigel Saunders, stabbed in the banana hammock…”

 

And then a pause.

 

Steve felt Tony tense against him, and looked over to see Bucky giving them both a confused frown – _stabbed in the what?_

 

“…it’s a night club in… Chicago, apparently…” Nick went on, when he’d found the detail on his screen. Steve saw Bucky bite his bottom lip and look at the floor – _exactly_ the way he used to, right before he got the giggles in church. And then he realised Nick was staring at he and Tony, an eyebrow raised, _what_?

“…Just too long a pause there, Nick-” Tony answered –

 

 And Bucky burst out laughing.

 

And it was only when Steve heard it again after so, so long that he realised – Bucky had always burst out laughing the same way. The same little high-pitched giggle that slipped out first, and then, like a dam breaking, a full, chesty laugh, because fuck it, he was laughing now… And it was so familiar, so immediately nostalgic-

 

“That’s not, like- the new age – medical-terminology-or-anything-” Tony tired to carry on the joke, but his own laugher got away from him, and then Steve was laughing just as hard, all three of them dissolving into a soundless, teary eyed trembling…

 

This went on for minutes upon minutes. Until all three of them were in actual pain, sides aching, struggling to breathe. Every time there was any sort of lull, one of them would snort another laugh and start the whole thing off again – and the increasingly bemused stares of everyone else only made it worse. Even after they’d gotten the giggling under control, it was another long while before any of them could speak again.

 

“I’ve got no hope of getting you to pay attention to anything important _now_ , right?” Nick asked eventually, smiling in spite of himself. And Steve just about managed to lift his head – feeling slightly dizzy now, and lighter, and much more relaxed – and looked at Bucky wiping the tears from his cheeks with the heels of his palms… _just like he used to…_

 

What could have been more important than that?

 

**April**

 

Steve was waiting, casually, by the main door of the building when Peirce left at the end of the day. He saw Steve immediately, and walked over to him as if he’d expected to meet him there. Steve smiled as though he was greeting a friend.

 

“Still here then.” Peirce observed, and Steve raised his eyebrows, _well, obviously_.

“Time travel missions are never straight forward – notoriously hard to predict.” He answered nonchalantly, “That’s why I wanted to stop by, actually.”

“Something gone wrong?” Pierce guessed, his tone almost teasing.

“Not for me” Steve smirked back. And then, when he saw Peirce frown, he softened his features. “I just prefer not to screw things up for other timelines, if I can manage it. Which, you know, you can’t always…” And he shrugged “But, yeah, it occurs to me… you probably would’ve met Tony Stark by now, if I hadn’t dropped by and distracted him”

 

He gave Peirce a moment to consider it.

 

“So, Mr Stark shares your outlook on life, does he?” He clarified, very carefully.

“He shares _our_ outlook on a lot of things, already.” Steve smiled “But he still thinks that Hydra died with the Red Skull. He doesn’t know what I’m really here for, or who I work for – actually, in the timeline I’m from, you recruited Stark before you recruited me.”

“We recruited Tony Stark.” Peirce repeated, sceptically.

“ _You_ recruited Tony Stark.” Steve corrected “The way he told it, he met you while the whole political system was trying to steal his work or stop his work or control his work – and you gave him a chance to actually use it to change to world. The way _you_ tell it, Tony Stark just really hates his dad and likes tearing down everything he ever built. So. Take your pick.”

 

Pierce frowned at him a moment longer.

 

“And I should have done that by now?”

“Around now, I think” Steve mused, as though he’d never really paid attention to the details “Definitely in 2011. And I know that Tony Stark had a huge impact on Project Insight, probably a lot of things – hey, you need to crack continuous suborbital flight, right? That’s the big breakthrough you were waiting on, about now?”

“And that was Stark?” Peirce asked, and Steve just pulled a face, _who else?_

“ _Soooo…_ I dunno, I didn’t want to accidentally erase Tony Stark from the whole plan, just because I needed somewhere to stay” Steve shrugged again “And, hey, I’ve told you now – if you never bother to chase that up, that’s not on me anymore… but, just so you know, I think you might just be screwed without him, long term.”

 

Steve had been very careful to phrase it that way. Because, of course, the ultimate aim here was for Pierce to give someone access to the secure systems – if he could convince Pierce to actively _ask_ for Tony’s help, the battle would essentially be won. But far more important to Steve was making sure Pierce knew –

 

Under no circumstances was Tony Stark to be a target.

 

*****

 

Peirce finally got to calling Tony, three weeks after Steve had told him to.

 

Steve knew he should’ve been relieved. He’d started to worry that Peirce hadn’t taken the bait, and the only explanation for that was that he didn’t believe Steve’s story. In which case, Peirce would have been planning how to handle this outsider who knew all his secrets, possibly looking into the new team and their recent activity… on paper, at least, it was far better for him to call Tony and ask for a meeting.

 

In reality, the whole thing left Steve with a deep sense of dread.

 

He watched Tony the whole time he was on that call, trying to fill in Peirce’s responses from Tony’s answers and the exaggerated faces he was pulling. Tony was invited to a ‘SHIELD’ conference in the summer, there were a few higher-ups that would love to meet him, it would be an entirely informal affair… The whole time, Steve was picturing it. The ‘conference centre’ rigged with booby-traps. The agents extending one hand to Tony, while the other was reaching for a weapon. All the opportunities for him to be captured or caught out or… hurt…

 

Steve knew, somehow, that if he lost Tony now, he would lose him forever. There would be no finding him again, after this.

 

But, as Tony ended the call and flashed Steve an enthusiastic smile, Steve recognised that if he tried to stop Tony from doing these things, he would have lost him already. That he loved Tony for being brave, and resourceful, and determined – he loved Tony for _wanting_ to get out there and fight. _That_ was the man he’d wanted for so long, that was the man he wanted to be with, anxieties and uncertainties and all.

 

Steve would just have to love him, and do everything he could to protect him, and hope.

 

Just like everyone else.

 

**May**

Steve’s phone buzzed softly on the surface of the bar. A text from Tony.

 

_I miss you more with every agent I talk to x_

 

Steve smiled at it, subconsciously running his thumb along the edge of his phone the way he might’ve touched Tony’s hand. In amongst his affection was a little twinge of sympathy. He knew that Tony really didn’t want to be at a SHIELD sponsored technology symposium – especially not today. He’d looked genuinely disappointed when Nick told him the dates, and again later, when he’d sighed that Steve might as well stay home, and they’d do something that was _actually_ fun another time… Afterall, two days in a no name hotel, surrounded by self-important SHIELD agents, wouldn’t count as an anniversary celebration. Tony had no choice but to go, thinking of the cover story they were building and the access they still needed to get. But there was no sense them both suffering through it.

 

Steve had agreed. Well, he said he agreed.

 

He thought it would be more fun – certainly far more fitting – if he turned up by surprise.

 

He glanced at the clock on his phone display and decided it was probably about the right time. As close to it as he could bear to wait, in any case. He drained his drink and slipped out of the hotel bar, unnoticed by any of the SHIELD personnel that had taken over the building. Not that it mattered if anyone saw him here – he just didn’t want anyone to come over to talk to him. He wanted to find Tony, who he knew from their little text chain was stuck in the lobby, talking to a bunch of administrators.

 

_The social part of these things is always the worst_, Tony had moaned the night before he left. _It’s always too formal to actually be a party, and too casual for a room full of people you don’t like_.

 

Steve hadn’t bothered to point out that Tony might well like some of the people there. For one, he knew that Tony was mainly just frustrated at missing their anniversary, and what was the harm in letting him rant? And, for another, Steve already knew by that point that Tony wouldn’t be staying at the social-not-party. That, actually, an unimportant social interlude was the perfect backdrop for what he wanted to do.

 

He found Tony immediately, of course. As though there was some magnetic force that drew Steve to him, like the mysterious natural instincts that tell animals where home is. Tony had backed into a corner – despite which, there were still three people surrounding him, vying for his attention. Steve took advantage of the moment in which he was distracted to think how lovely Tony looked in his perfectly tailored suit, how much he liked Tony’s hair like that.

 

And then Tony felt him, Steve knew it. He saw the way Tony’s spine straightened; the way his eyes went from mildly bored to fiery interested in a blink. He looked right at Steve. Steve felt his stomach  turn to water as he watched the realisation wash over Tony’s features, the expression of immediate joy sharpening into a more knowing excitement as he processed what he was looking at. He barely glanced at the people he was walking away from as he made his apologies. Steve bit back a smile at his boyfriend’s bluntness, loving it for no other reason than it was so very _him_.

 

He stopped right in front of Steve – although ‘stopped’ wasn’t exactly accurate. His whole body seemed alive with exhilaration, like it was still moving on a cellular level or something. Steve was probably doing the same. He felt as though he was floating an inch above the floor, he was suddenly so happy. Tony looked _so_ happy.

 

“You’re Steve Rogers” Tony beamed – catching on immediately. Of course he did.

“And _you_ are Tony Stark” Steve beamed back, “And you are the kindest, and bravest, and best man there will ever be.” Tony let go of a breath, and for a second Steve thought he might be about to literally swoon, but he managed to steady himself enough to say,

“Come with me now, let’s talk about how time travel works”.

 

And, hey, maybe they _would_ end up talking about that. Afterwards.

 

*

 

Tony came up from the workshop and flopped onto the couch, exhausted.

 

He’d been in the lab since they got back from the symposium, which was almost three straight days now, working on plans for repulsor engines that he could discuss with Peirce at the ‘conference’ in July. The idea was to give Hydra enough details to get their attention, but not enough that they could continue the work on their own. Ideally, Tony would be able to come up with a blueprint for something that _really_ looked as though it would work… but wouldn’t, when it came to it. A safeguard, to ensure it didn’t matter what plans fell into which hands. Which, apparently, was a uniquely difficult engineering challenge – and therefore, obviously, one that Tony had approached with gusto.

 

It was actually the middle of the afternoon. Bucky and Nat were sitting at the bar, playing cards. Steve was sitting just next to them, flicking though all information they had about the conference _again,_ just in case there was any potential threat to Tony that he hadn’t yet thought of – which was unlikely by now, to be honest. But then he saw Tony, looking as though he didn’t know whether it was the middle of the afternoon or the middle of the night, and he forgot about fretting. He put the tablet computer down and walked over to him, barely glancing up at Nat and Bucky, who barely glanced back. Well, obviously Steve would go to over to Tony. He’d have gotten more of a look if he hadn’t moved.

 

By the time he’d crossed the living room, Tony’s eyes were already falling shut. He’d sprawled flat out on his back, one arm thrown across his forehead and the other lying over his stomach. Steve took a moment to look at him, taking the opportunity to run his eyes over every detail from his fingertips to his toes. And then he crouched down beside the couch, so that he could whisper very softly, _hey_. Steve didn’t want to shock him. He waited until he saw those impossibly long eyelashes flutter, and the faintest ghost of a smile, before he slid both his arms underneath Tony and scooped him up into his arms.

 

Tony inhaled, deep and soft, but he didn’t startle. He just looked up at Steve, open and easy and trusting, before he relaxed into his arms and let himself be carried. And it occurred to Steve, as it did so often these days, what a wonderful miracle of chance it was… this perfect balance they had found. The fact that there was nothing Steve wanted more right now than to take care of Tony, to lay him down somewhere soft and safe and comfortable and just watch him rest.

 

He’d expected Tony to fall straight into sleep as soon as he set him down on the bed. But he opened his eyes, and Steve knew it was the other thing. That Tony hadn’t hit the wall so much as run through it, that he’d gotten to the stage where he was simply too tired to sleep. And Steve had learned that it wasn’t as much help to shh him, and soothe him, and _tell_ him to sleep – that what Tony _really_ needed right now was for someone to talk to him, softly and without any serious intention, until he forgot that he was trying to fall asleep and just did.

 

Oh, and as it just so happened, Steve couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do.

 

“What’re you thinking about?” He whispered, lying down beside Tony.

“I don’t want to have a birthday party” Tony sighed, wearily, his eyes falling shut again. Steve blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Why not?” He asked, kindly.

“I never do.” Tony answered as though it was a confession of some kind “I don’t know… I never know what my own birthday party is meant to be – like, it’s all about me, but actually I’m hosting it for everyone else. And everyone is always expecting me to be wild because it’s me, and to be responsible because it’s _my_ party and I’m responsible for it… I dunno, it’s hard to explain. It’s just always made me anxious.”

“So, you’re not having a birthday party” Steve told him, his voice serious. Tony smiled, indulgently.

“No, but I have to.” He exhaled, “I always have to – it’s a whole… big thing…”

“No, you _don’t_.” And something in his tone made Tony open his eyes again.

“…It’s _tomorrow_.” But there was the slightest hint of a question mark in there somewhere. Like that wasn’t a statement of fact so much as a test of the boundaries. “…And it’s a press thing, and a company thing, and… a whole big thing…” And, oh, that vulnerable, wide eyed hope when he looked at Steve for an answer. It set Steve’s heart fluttering in a way he didn’t fully understand, but he liked it.

“So, let them have a party, and the press can turn up and photograph all the important people who are networking there, and talk about the company on the news the next day. You don’t have to go.”

“…Everyone is expecting me to go.”

“People expect a lot of things. Mostly because they’re entitled assholes.”

“…Pepper will kill me.”

“No, she won’t, because she’s _not_ an entitled asshole” Steve reminded him “And _she’s_ CEO of Stark Industries now, and if she thinks it’s so important, I’m sure she’ll hold a big old press gala for _her_ birthday.”

“…So….what, I just don’t turn up?” Tony asked, and Steve almost heard him add, _please_.

“Well, we can say you were busy doing Iron Man stuff, if you like – people love that” Steve smiled “But no, you’re _not_ going.”

“I’m _not_ , huh?” Tony grinned.

“No. You’re not.” Steve assured him, tracing his fingertips over Tony’s stomach. “You do plenty for other people. Why should you spend your own birthday at a party you already provided for everyone else, if they want to go?”

 

And _that_ smile lit up Tony’s face, sleepy though he was – that look of honest, vulnerable amazement that Steve wished he could gather up and hold close to his chest. Steve kissed his forehead softly, and ran his palm over Tony’s shoulder, and traced his fingers over the dip in his collarbone and the curve of his throat, and played with his hair… There was nothing Steve loved more than being able to touch him like this. All he wanted in the world was to comfort him and pet him and indulge him –

 

Oh, and by the way, that was exactly what Tony needed right now.

 

“How about we spend your birthday at home, just the two of us?” Steve suggested, as Tony began to melt into the mattress. “We can just relax. Netflix and chill, or whatever.”

“…is that one of your references that I don’t get, or do you literally want to mail order a DVD?” Tony enquired, picking up on Steve’s tone of voice. And Steve grinned for all sorts of reasons.

“It’s a reference you’ll get eventually.” Steve promised, kissing his forehead again.

“What does it mean?” Tony almost slurred, slipping deeper into the embrace of sleep.

“…I’ll show you on your birthday” Steve grinned. He wasn’t sure whether Tony heard him before he fell under.

 

**June**

 

Steve was sitting in Nat’s office, reading through yet more SHIELD paperwork, when he heard Tony call up the stairs,

 

“Steve, you have a visitor”

 

He frowned, immediately confused. He knew it wasn’t Peirce – JARVIS had been told to warn them if Peirce got within 500 feet of the house, so that they had time to hide Bucky away and look surprised by the visit. Also, he could hear Tony smiling, and he wouldn’t be doing that for Peirce. Who else on earth...?

 

But Tony hadn’t sounded concerned. So, Steve could assume he didn’t have to be. He simply closed the files he had been working on and made his way down the stairs.

 

And there was Sam.

 

Steve flashed him a familiar smile before he remembered that Sam didn’t really know him. But Sam smiled back anyway – a more cautious smile, but still.

“Hey” Steve began, as he finally reached the living room.

“Hey.” Sam exhaled, dropping his eyes. “So. It turns out you were right…”

 

There was a sudden, plunging dread in Steve.

 

“He…” Steve began, faltering when Sam looked up at him again. “…Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah” Sam rushed to correct him “We planned for… Like I say, everything was exactly where you said it would be.”

“Where _you_ said it would be” Steve told him, his whole body melting under the relief of knowing that it hadn’t happened.

“Yeah, well…” Sam managed, over a deep breath. _That’s the thing._

 

Steve nodded. He _understood_ this anxiety, he knew he did…

 

“See, Riley has this whole new lease on life now.” Sam went on, after a pause “He’s so sure he’s _meant_ to be out there, that his destiny is _out there_ …”

“And you’re not so sure?” Steve guessed. Sam dropped his shoulders.

“I… I don’t know, man. Captain America” He gestured vaguely to Steve “And time travel, and superheroes… I just think, if there _is_ all that… I’m not saying what we do out there isn’t important. I just can’t make it the big revelation of all of this, you know? Like, something that big can’t make your destiny something that… specific…” And Steve could tell, he didn’t want to say ‘small’ “Riley seems to think he was saved so that he could carry on doing what he’s doing…”

“And you think maybe there’s something else…?”

“I don’t know” Sam answered, with a self-conscious laugh. “All I know is… after Captain America drops by your mom’s house and tells you…”

 

And just when the pause had gone on so long that Steve thought Sam had finished, he added.

 

“I guess, after that, I’m having a really hard time finding a reason to be over there, you know?”

 

Steve wondered if there really was such a thing as fate. Or maybe there was just a consistency to human nature. Maybe it was who Sam _was_ , the person who said that – whatever the reality. Maybe it really was meant to be.

 

Either way, Steve was pleased with the development.

 

*

 

Steve always had trouble filing his time when Tony went away on business. He didn’t know why it felt so different to the times when Tony was squirrelled away in the workshop, how his body knew that Tony was in the house even when Steve couldn’t see him. How it knew he _wasn’t_ here, how it always seemed to know that he wasn’t coming home tonight…

 

_Only one night_ , he’d reminded himself, repeatedly.

 

He’d spent most of the evening chatting to Bucky. It still wasn’t quite what it was in the forties, but it absolutely felt like talking to _Bucky_ now. Bucky in a strange mood, or Bucky after a traumatic event, but definitely him. And it was easy to talk to him, even if it wasn’t completely natural yet. And Bucky seemed more comfortable talking to Steve now – sometimes, there were moments that Steve could swear Bucky forgot to be awkward, when he didn’t think beyond just answering the question…

 

Like when he saw Bucky smile at him, when he checked his phone again. A knowing, affectionately mocking smile – a smile Steve remembered.

“So, you’re in _love_ , huh?” He teased; same voice that teased Steve about his high school crushes. Steve felt his cheeks warm.

“Yeah.” He answered, feeling like he was sixteen years old again – but in a good way.

“And he _loves_ you…” Bucky went on, obviously happy for him.

“I know,” Steve nodded, outright blushing now, “I mean, I can’t _believe_ it, but I believe him…”

“Why can’t you believe it?”

“You remember my dating track record?” Steve reminded him, eyebrows raised – and Bucky took a moment to nod and acknowledge, _yeah, you were bad at that_ … Like only a true friend could.

 

And then the doorbell rang.

 

Steve and Bucky exchanged a worried glance.

 

“JARVIS?” Steve enquired, as Bucky got to his feet – just in case he had to hide.

“Colonel Rhodes, sir.” JARVIS confirmed. Both Steve and Bucky softened in relief… And then it occurred to Steve to wonder why Rhodey would come by to see _him_ , when he knew Tony was out of town…

 

Steve walked quickly to the door, a little breathless when he got to opening it. Rhodey was wearing a serious expression that did nothing to ease Steve’s anxiety.

“Rhodey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Rhodey nodded sceptically. And then added “Can I come in?” So, Steve stood aside. Rhodey barely bothered to walk into the living room before he turned to speak.

 

“So, you know Tony talked to me about being involved in this whole new SHIELD thing.” He began, and Steve nodded.

“He said you were thinking about it” He answered, still wondering why Rhodey wanted to talk without Tony here. “He said you didn’t sound all that interested…” Rhodey huffed out a soft little laugh.

“Yeah, you could say that…” And then he caught Steve’s eye, and straightened his shoulders.

 

“I don’t really know what I thought this thing with you was, or what was going on with this new team” Rhodey explained “That’s the thing, with Tony. Sometimes it’s not a whole new thing. Sometimes it’s a today thing, or a one-time thing, or it turns out not to be a thing… and sometimes, he’s Iron Man now, you know?” And he looked at Steve, and Steve smiled, and Rhodey nodded, _of course you know_ , “And I get it now, that this is going to be… a _thing_. This is going to be his life now, and that makes it time for me to decide if I’m getting involved in this crazy-ass scheme, or if I’m going to tell him he’s being crazy, and step back…” He considered Steve for a moment. Steve knew not to interrupt him.

 

“And the thing that got me” Rhodey went on “listening to him last week… was that it _didn’t_ sound like a crazy-ass plan. I mean, I _know_ it is. But… you guys have really thought about this thing, huh?”

“We’ve _really_ thought about this thing” Steve confirmed.

“…So… I know this is none of my business.” Rhodey sighed. “I don’t even know if I can explain why I want to know, but I’ll try, if it helps… But the question is-” And he suddenly fixed Steve with as intense a look as Steve had ever seen on anyone. “You _do_ love him, don’t you?”

 

Steve was just relieved it was an easy question.

 

“Of course.” He breathed. “More than anything. More than I can tell you.” And Rhodey nodded. There was a pause, and Steve suddenly got the feeling that Rhodey _wanted_ him to ask, “Why do you want to know?”

“Because he’s thought of everything else – for once.” Rhodey admitted. “First time ever, he’s actually got a plan to stop himself from dying. I’ve never heard him talk like that matters, before. And that’s good. You’re good for him. It’s just… if you don’t love him, the way he loves you, then he’s going to get his heart broken and this whole thing’s going to turn to shit. No question.”

“But I really do.” Steve promised again. “And I’m never going to leave him, or hurt him, or let anyone else hurt him-”

“Yeah, I believe you” And Rhodey smiled at last, and Steve knew he meant it.

 

“So… I guess that means he _has_ thought of everything, huh?”

 

**July**

 

Steve knew he should just be happy.

 

Tony had made it through the conference – and, for a start, he was alive and well. There had been no booby-trap, no ambush, no unfortunate ‘accident’. Steve had spent the last 48 hours frantically double checking every surveillance network, and every SHIELD system, all while he’d been listening into the live feed of Tony’s interactions… Just waiting for something to snatch Tony away from him.

 

And it hadn’t happened.

 

Steve should’ve been relieved for that alone.

 

Not to mention the fact that the mission had been a resounding success. Peirce, and Sitwell, and a few other definitely-Hydra-higher-ups, had been captivated by Tony’s ideas. There had been countless we-should-meet-agains and please-send-me-the-details, hundreds of encounters with people that Steve _knew_ were on the Hydra side of things – any number of potential opportunities to infiltrate Hydra, after this.

 

Steve should have been excited. Elated.

 

Instead, he found himself at the mercy of a sort of emotional hang over. An anxious, lagging headache as his body waited to receive the memo, _Tony is okay, nothing bad happened._ Until that time, Steve was at the mercy of all the things that _might_ have happened, his heart and his lungs and his guts still acting as though Tony might never come home.

 

_He’s on his way home_ , Steve reminded himself. With a thousand little details Pierce didn’t even know he’d let slip, and a million ideas for how to use them.

 

God, Steve loved him so much that it ached. So much that it had a taste.

 

Tony was so clever, so unbelievably quick, so brave… He had spun this story with such charismatic ease – Steve had listened to him do it, through the concealed bug he was wearing. Steve had listened, breath caught in his chest, while Tony drew everyone in, laid everything out, confidently brought everything together. A genius, a leader, a hero.

 

_He’s on his way home, still all of those things._

 

Steve didn’t know why that didn’t make him feel better. Why he still felt edgy and vulnerable and sensitive to everything. Why he was _still_ imagining scenarios in which Tony was caught out, captured, tortured – scenarios that already hadn’t happened. Tony was already on his way home, healthy and unharmed and successful. Steve told himself that, again and again… but it didn’t help. He couldn’t make himself feel _better_.

 

And then Tony made it home. Immediately, that made it better. Not all good. But better.

 

“You were amazing.” Were the first words out of Steve’s mouth. And, as he watched the colour rush up Tony’s neck, he thought to add “You _are_ amazing.”

 

Tony shook his head, shyly – but there was clearly a smile tugging at his lips.

“Looks like we’ve got a way in” He conceded “You _know_ they’re going to call and ask me join Team Hydra”

 

But the words just washed away from Steve, like his brain had been coated in Teflon-

 

Screw what was _going_ to happen. Tony was still here _now_.

 

“God, I love you” Steve whispered, taking a step closer and closing the gap between them. He threw his arms around Tony and pulled him close, against every available inch of his body. Tony tilted his head upwards, and parted his lips, and let Steve catch his mouth in a tender kiss that quickly developed into something far deeper.

 

Steve caressed Tony as close to him as he could be, stroking his hands firmly up and down Tony’s spine, digging his fingers into Tony back and shoulders and hips as he explored this oh-so-familiar body, again. He could feel Tony smiling against his lips as he took more of his weight, all but lifting him off of his feet into this embrace.

“I love you, Tony Stark” Steve promised, as his hands found their way under Tony’s shirt “I love every inch of you, every sound you make, every idea you come up with-”

 

And just as Steve said that, as his hands had reached that especially sensitive spot between Tony’s shoulders, Tony took a shuddering, pleading breath. Steve felt it reverberate through his entire body, all of his muscles trebling in the aftershock of that beautiful, _desperate_ noise that he’d just elicited from Tony. He wanted more of it; he wanted to hear it again.

 

So, Steve kept on kneading the muscles in Tony’s back, dropping his head to kiss Tony’s neck; because he knew Tony _liked_ that. Deep, slow kisses along the column of his throat, and sharper, almost biting kisses along his jaw and behind his ear. He felt a warm, liquid surge of contentment, all the way through him, as Tony whispered to him, _God, Steve, yes, I love you, oh Fuck I love you…_ He loved the way Tony writhed against him, the way he fidgeted and rutted and tried so desperately to gain purchase. How much and how purely he wanted Steve…. The exact way that Steve wanted _him_.

 

He wanted to lose himself in it. But, as Steve gathered Tony’s body into him, he couldn’t stop himself from _feeling_ all the things that might have happened. All the logic and analysis in the world couldn’t erase that guilt – the terrible knowledge that, in some parallel reality, Tony had been killed or enslaved or worse.

 

Steve felt such a sincere urge to _have_ , to _keep_.

 

He curled his hands around Tony’s hips and lifted him with a sudden tug, and Tony leant into it, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist immediately. Tony ran a rough hand through the back of his hair, having to tilt Steve’s head upwards to kiss him now. Steve barely broke that kiss as he carried them both into their bedroom – although he did _almost_ drop him in the doorway when Tony began tugging sharply at his hair. God, he loved it when Tony did that-

 

Instead, he just about made it to the bed, the two of them falling into it without much grace – Tony grabbing at Steve with such urgency, like he couldn’t bare the loss of contact even for a second. He was clawing at Steve’s clothes even as Steve scrambled on top of him, tearing his T-Shirt over his head and then pulling him the rest of the way into a kiss. Steve’s breath caught at the speed of it, burning in his lungs as the cool palms of Tony’s beautiful, talented hands made their way down his back, his mouth still hot and desperate and devouring, his whole body grinding against him.

 

It was Steve that had to gasp for air first, still rocking his hips into Tony as he struggled to fill his lungs, his head swimming and his vision obscured by stars. And then he looked down at Tony, and some deep, basic, natural part of himself immediately recognised.

 

_The same_.

 

Before he’d worked out what he was looking at, he _knew_ , this was the same. Like recognising his own reflection, or being able to pick out his own name being spoken at the back of a busy room. A pure, human instinct to find and cling to the things that are ourselves.

 

_This is the same for him…_

 

And then Tony whispered,

 

“I will always come back to you, I promise, I’ll never leave you, not in _any_ way, I promise…”

 

And Steve made sense of everything he was looking at. He found the thoughts for all these feelings. He was aware now that Tony had felt that same anxiety about this conference, that he’d been just as afraid that he wouldn’t come back, he was just as aware of how awful and endless and unfixable that agony would have been –

 

And he wasn’t thinking of himself, in any of it. He’d been worried for Steve.

 

Steve could see the exact look of relief in Tony’s eyes now, and it wasn’t relief to be alive – it was relief to have come back to Steve. All these promises he was making to Steve were the promises he was making to himself, promises they both knew he couldn’t keep, but Tony clearly _so_ wanted to keep them-

 

He’d been worried about breaking a promise to Steve.

 

He’d been desperate to come home to _Steve_. He felt that same wild, almost painful rush of reprieve right now-

 

_The same_.

 

And just like that, Steve _wasn’t_ thinking about all the ways it could’ve gone wrong. He wasn’t thinking about any parallel future, any alternative past, anything that was happening anywhere else in the world – right _here_ , right _now,_ was the most movingly wonderful thing that had ever existed.

 

When he kissed Tony again it was just because he loved him. Not because he was worried about losing him or trying to make the most of the time he had with him, or any of that. Just because he wanted to, and he knew Tony wanted him to –

 

Just the same.

 

**August**

 

Steve had left them on their own for fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.

 

And, when he’d gone upstairs, the living room had looked entirely normal. Well, normal for them, at least. There were a few boxes of non-digital Hydra files on the coffee table – a permanent feature these days, because a new box turned up every time they’d finished cataloguing the last one. The wall had been lit up with holograms, and he’d left Tony and Bucky surrounded by several screens each - but nothing out of the ordinary for one of their planning sessions.

 

And then, when he returned from Nat’s office…

 

“Why does it look like the Pepe Silvia conspiracy meme in here?” He grinned, as he ran his eyes over the web of chalk lines that Tony had drawn across the entire floor of his lounge, linking various pictures, files and other chalked headlines that he’d scattered across the walls. Steve could pick out several notes and bullet pointed lists in Tony’s ‘engineers’ handwriting, where he’d clearly decided (as of fifteen minutes ago) that every surface in his house was a massive drawing board. And then he looked at Tony, who was frowning at him, confused.

“The Pepe what?”

“Always Sunny in Philadelphia?” Steve frowned back “Is that not a thing yet? I thought that was already a thing?” And Tony just shrugged at him, _I don’t know what to tell you_. So, Steve smiled, and tried again. “Okay, never mind – why does it look like _this_ in here?”

“We thought it might make more sense on paper than it does on the computer screens” Tony answered, casting a hand over his work in a proud sort of way. And, because Steve knew that Tony preferred everything on a screen, he could only assume that meant, _I’m trying to explain something to Bucky and I’m being nice about it._

“And _what_ does this make sense of, exactly…?” Steve asked, in a amused tone. When he’d left them, they were only meant to be double checking their current list of ongoing SHIELD science projects. Making sure they had backed up all the details, that they knew which category each would fall into, after ‘ _the deletening’_ \- Clint had come up with the name. A list of projects labelled ‘to continue’, and a list labelled ‘to burn to the ground cos is weird Nazi shit’.  A perfectly banal chore, in anyone else’s hands…

“ _This_ ” Tony announced “Is the SHIELD-Hydra set up, with the pink lines” And he traced along one at random with an outstretched finger, to demonstrate “And _this_ is our proposed structure in blue – and, look, the pink bits with the blue lines around them are the bits we want to just carry over… so, if you follow the blue line, you can sort of see how we’re going to…like, _yank_ the good SHIELD bits over, and into what…”

 

And, as Steve looked at it… It _did_ make sense. He could actually picture this organisation, he could imagine what working in it would be like, day to day. Sharon Carter in charge of the new Strike Team. Sam Wilson acting as government liaison instead of Sitwell. Reporting to Rhodey instead of Pierce. Any and all of them prepared to suit up and stand alongside The Avengers, to follow Natasha’s orders if the world needed defending – when they were needed to do their _real_ jobs. And, as he thought about it, he imagined the chalk diagrams growing even wider, branching into the gaps left for Bruce, and Thor…

 

“It’s beautiful” Steve smiled.

**September**

Steve was standing amongst the ruins of The Avengers compound, his lungs burning with smoke. The sky above him was black and streaked by flames, the air all around him was full of ash and the sound of screaming-

 

But there was no one else there.

 

There were no advancing hoards of chitauri soldiers, no army of allies at his back – no Thanos.

 

Just Tony, kneeling on his mark, the gauntlet already raised in his hand.

 

Steve’s heart stopped in his chest, his whole body gripped by a fiery panic. He _knew_ what happened next. He _had_ to stop it-

 

But he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the floor, his limbs wouldn’t respond to his frantic pleas

 

_Oh God no, please Tony no-_

 

He had to stop him saying the words. It was all about the words. If Tony said _those_ words, then Tony would die, he’d snap his fingers and turn to dust-

 

Oh God, Steve couldn’t move.  

 

And then Tony looked right at him, the whole world crashing down over him as he said,

 

“Steve, sweetheart.”

 

_Wrong words_.

 

Oh, he still had time, if he could just get to him before he said-

 

“Steve – _Steve_ ”

“Please Tony don’t-”

“Steve, it’s okay. _Wake up_.”

 

At last Steve managed to break free of his paralysis, throwing his arms out as though he was tearing his way out of a straitjacket. There was a sudden onslaught of confusion as all his visual inputs were replaced, the battlefield fading into shadows around him. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what he was panicking about. He just knew he had to get to Tony, he had to-

 

“ _Tony, Please-”_

“It’s okay, Steve, it’s okay – _I’m here_ ”

 

The sound of Tony’s voice was like oxygen to a drowning man; at once an overwhelming relief, and still not quite enough to ease the desperate need in him. Steve grabbed for him blindly, pulling him hard against his chest, burying his head into Tony’s hair and breathing him in. _It’s okay, he’s here_.

 

_It was a dream_.

 

“It’s okay sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re home.” Tony carried on talking softly, his lips brushing against Steve’s neck. Steve couldn’t answer him. His throat was still too tight, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He could only rock Tony against him, and focus on his voice “I’m right here Steve, I’m here, I love you.”

 

Eventually Steve managed to get his body under control. His heartbeat slowed to something less painful, his ribs relaxed enough for him to take a proper breath. But he didn’t feel better. The relief wasn’t enough to wash all the bad feelings out of him, he _still_ felt soaked through with anxiety and guilt and regret. His tongue tasted of bile, and everything felt unclean.

 

“I’m sorry” he whispered, as soon as he was able. He felt Tony move against him, and finally thought to loosen his grip on his shoulders. And then Tony leant away, just far enough and for just long enough to turn on the bedside lamp. Steve had to screw his eyes shut at the sudden burst of light, and when he blinked them open again Tony was looking down on him, those big, Bambi eyes so full of love and concern… Oh, Steve loved him so much…

“Tell me what you need right now” Tony soothed.

 

_That_ made Steve feel a little bit better. Just because he knew exactly what it meant.

 

He knew, if he wanted to, he could try to talk to Tony about all of this. It wouldn’t matter how long it took, or how late it was, or what time Tony had to get up tomorrow. Tony would’ve listened to him, however complicated and frustrating it got, and been endlessly patient and understanding and kind.

 

But Steve didn’t want that, right now.

 

Right now, Steve was all visceral, physical _feelings_. He just wanted to _feel_ Tony, to _know_ that he was there, and he was real, and he was Steve’s. To escape into everything that was wonderful and right, to wash all the fear out of him, to fill that aching emptiness.

 

And Tony just looked at him – _whatever you need right now._

 

So, Steve put a hand to the side of Tony’s face and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss. Tony melted into it immediately, pressing his whole body as close to Steve’s as he could, like he understood completely what Steve was asking for. Steve rolled Tony onto his back, climbing on top of him in one fluid motion, barely breaking the kiss. Tony moaned softly against his lips, digging his fingertips into Steve’s shoulders, rocking his hips up against him – reassuring him, encouraging him, _that’s it baby, take what you want._

 

Tony _gave._

 

He didn’t simply surrender; he didn’t _allow_ Steve to do this. He gave himself willingly, eagerly, and Steve let himself fall into it.

 

Knowing it was all okay, taking because Tony said he could – because Tony wanted him to.

 

**October**

 

“Alexander Peirce has just made the turning onto the driveway.”

 

Steve had been waiting so long for JARVIS to say that, for a few minutes it felt as though he might’ve just imagined it again. But then he saw Bucky stand up from his place on the couch and walk silently to the stairs; reporting to his allotted hiding space when he heard the command, as trained.

 

So, that was the first thing that Steve didn’t like about this situation.

 

A little voice in his head observed that it was in fact Halloween – that this monster couldn’t have picked a more fitting day to drop by. But he dismissed that, and thought back to the plan.

 

He looked up at Natasha, and he could swear he saw her morph back into Natalie Rushman. Everything about her changed, subtly, the slightest shift in her expression and her posture making her somehow look entirely different… Steve didn’t much like that, either.

 

Tony didn’t appear, of course. The plan had always been to act as though they _didn’t_ have a highly practiced routine for this very situation. Tony was in his workshop, and he’d stay there until his ‘assistant’ went to fetch him.

 

Steve did his best to slot back into character as Nat went to answer the door, which wasn’t quite as easy this time, with Tony right there in the house… But somehow, he managed what felt like a natural smile, and said,

“And here was me thinking you were just never going to come visit me.”

 

He glanced over Pierces shoulder, and saw that Nat wasn’t giving him a horrified look, so he assumed he sounded okay.

 

“Well, it isn’t you I’m here to see” Peirce actually sounded apologetic, which helped Steve’s little laugh sound more real, at least.

“You’re breaking my heart, Peirce” He mocked, glancing more pointedly at Nat this time, and then towards the workshop. Natalie Rushman nodded back, _right away, sir_. And then Steve gestured towards the couches, graciously, _shall we_?

 

“Does she know?” Peirce whispered, very low, as he sank into his seat. And Steve just pulled an incredulous face, _hell no_.

“She still thinks I think she’s Natasha Rushman.”

“And Tony?”

“Tony _does_ still think she’s Natasha Rushman.” Steve grinned, as though he found it funny. “But then I don’t think Tony pays her much attention one way or the other”

“So why haven’t you told him anything?” Peirce raised his voice ever so slightly.

“Well, wasn’t me that recruited him the first time – you’re the one who’s good at that, so part of me thinks, you know, leave it to history…” And then he let his smile settle into something more suggestive. “And Tony’s more fun when he’s not having an existential crisis. Since I didn’t think I’d be staying with him that long…”

“You didn’t want to tell him because you’d rather be having casual sex with him?” Pierce said it so solemnly, Steve’s next laugh _was_ completely genuine.

“You read the comics when you were a kid, huh?” He giggled. “You always swore to me you didn’t…” And was that actually a blush running up Peirce’s neck…? “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but Steve Rogers wasn’t quite as pure and wholesome as all that.”

 

Peirce looked as though he was going to say something else, but then he heard Tony walking over to them.

“Mr Stark” He beamed, standing up and extending a hand “So good to see you again.”

“Pierce” Tony smiled back “And how is your new repulsor engine getting on without me?”

“Well, funny you should mention that” Peirce answered, offering Tony a seat on his own couch.

 

Steve was quite pleased that Peirce hadn’t been looking at him this entire time. He wasn’t sure he’d managed to maintain the right expression. And then he remembered T’Chaka’s warning question,

 

_And if Hydra do expect you to witness or co-operate with behaviour you cannot countenance, how do you expect to maintain your cover?_

 

…Did merely daring to fucking talk to Tony count as behaviour he couldn’t countenance?

 

_Well, last time Clint just shot the guy…_

 

But Steve managed to drag a smile from somewhere, and kept it firmly in place as he watched Pierce recruit Tony Stark. If Peirce hadn’t been so focused on his target, he would probably have thought Steve looked strange, but as it was he barely looked over. He just gave his pitch, which, little did he know would never have worked on the real Tony, in _any_ reality… and Tony did such a remarkable job of pretending to listen. Knowing when to part his lips in shock, and set his jaw in outrage…when to let it melt into a lost, thoughtful sort of expression.

 

Steve noted that Peirce didn’t bother to tell Tony about his parents. Or that his assistant was actually a SHIELD spy. But he was – somewhat remarkably – entirely honest about Project Insight, what Tony would really be a part of.

 

And then, when Pierce finished talking, Tony left a few long, numb moments…

 

“Can you excuse me a moment?” He mumbled, eventually. And then he stood up and left the room.

 

All discussed in advance, of course. What they agreed would have been the more believable response, in the first instance. If Tony had agreed too quickly, it would have set alarm bells ringing. If he asked too many questions, Peirce might’ve started to worry about what Tony Stark knew. So, they’d settled on disbelief and confusion, with very little anger… the sort of response you knew could melt into acceptance, given time.

 

Pierce shot Steve a look that was part hopeful, part questioning… what might even have been, _how did I do_? Steve smiled reassuringly, finding it all much easier when Tony wasn’t in this man’s reach.

“Well, thank you for that, that’s me not getting any tonight” He mocked, and Peirce frowned in distaste. “Don’t worry, I guarantee he’ll call you.”

“You can guarantee that, can you?”

“Trust me, I know him” Steve sighed, just a little bit ruefully.

 

“You’ve definitely got him, now.”

**November**

Tony had left it a full two days before calling Peirce back – which had been the longest days of Steve’s life so far. And that was up against some serious competition.

 

But, knowing that Peirce knew that Tony knew everything… Knowing that, until Tony made that call and agreed to be an ally, he could only be on Hydra’s radar as a threat… He never thought he’d be eagerly counting the minutes down until Tony called Peirce, but there it was.

 

Not that he felt any better once Tony had actually made the call.

 

“Well. They’ve invited me down to see the actual helicarriers.” Tony explained, as he slid his phone back into his pocket. “I figure the best way to play this to act like I’m only interested in the engines, and then maybe move onto thinking about how they could sync up with the targeting system…maybe use that as an in…”

 

And Steve was _trying_ to listen to him, he really was. He was trying not to think about Tony in an underground bunker, surrounded by Hydra agents, with three next generation helicarriers aiming right at his head.

 

“Well, we should run it by the team…” Steve murmured, weakly. And then he felt a gentle hand on the side of his face.

“It’s going to be okay” Tony promised, even though he couldn’t know that. And Steve smiled softly, because he felt like Tony deserved a smile for that.

 

And a kiss.

 

*

 

The earliest they could gather the rest of the team was three days later – which felt like far too long and nowhere near enough time, all at once. Steve wasn’t sure how a plan nearly two years in the making could feel like it had rushed up on him, but here they were.

 

Sam was the first to arrive. This would be his first meeting with the whole team – getting someone out of an obligation to the US Airforce was no small thing, even for a group this well connected. Steve had been starting to wonder whether it wouldn’t be easier to just wait until Sam’s tour was over anyway, but Sam had been insistent, and Nick Fury had been determined. So, a few months later, here Sam was, ready to commit to the Avengers.

 

He made his way around the group of people who actually lived here, introducing himself to Tony and Bucky and Nat – Steve noticed that, when Bucky shook Sam’s hand, it was Nat rather than Tony he glanced at, to check he was doing this right… That had been happening more and more, recently. Since they’d basically finished with all the neurological recovery, and moved onto the regular human scars that Bucky’s experience had left him with. Since he’d had to spend less time attached to Tony’s machines and gotten to spending more time just talking to people… Nat quite a bit, Steve realised now… He smiled, and made a note to ask Bucky about it later.

 

Rhodey was next – for his first full team meeting, too, although he’d been to some of the smaller planning sessions before now. And then Nick and Maria and Clint, complaining about flights and LA traffic, like they always did. Everyone finding what were now ‘their’ places, everyone smiling at Sam and trying to include him, Bucky being included in things by default –

 

Steve would have loved everything about it, if he weren’t still so anxious about the reason for the meeting.

 

Eventually, Nat stood up and took her place as leader.

 

“Okay, everyone. So, here’s where we’re up to” She announced, waving her holographic presentation into life as confidently as Tony did. “Pierce has invited Tony to DC in the New Year, to begin work on their continuous suborbital flight project. He’s told Tony the basics about Hydra, and the truth about Operation Insight, but so far nothing we didn’t know already. He’s organised a cover story that has Tony working in DC for six weeks – so, first order of business, who’s free to spend six weeks in DC as the defence team?”

“Well, I’m in” Nick confirmed “And I can make sure Hill and Barton are available…” He looked between Maria and Clint for confirmation.

“I’m in” Maria nodded.

“DC. Sounds good” Clint grinned. Nat barely bothered to glance at Steve, who just shrugged, _well, obviously._ Then she turned to Sam.

“…I literally came from DC to be here” Sam smiled. “So, yeah, I’m in.”

“I’ll come” Bucky answered, a bit more hesitantly, “If… that’s okay…” He glanced between Steve and Tony, and then at Nat. She smiled.

“You’re in.” She nodded, and finally turned her attention to Rhodey.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Great. So, we’ll have the whole team right there as back up, just in case…” She looked at Tony, and then she looked at Steve, before she carried on. “But, I’m assuming we won’t even have to get involved. The plan is for Tony to begin work on the engines, before finding a pretence to ask about their computer systems – and as long as we get any sort of access, Starks software will be able to get to everything they have, and back it up for us.” She gestured to Tony for the details.

“It’s a virus, technically, but it’ll be able to track all the files invisibly – assuming all paths lead to Peirce, it’ll be able to get to all the important stuff by intercepting his systems.” Tony shorthanded. “Once it’s installed, it’ll take less than 24 hours to gather everything.”

“We’ve already put together several ‘gotcha reels’” Nat went on, raising an eyebrow at Clint – that had been another of his naming triumphs. “Which are packages of all the evidence we have against the most prominent Hydra personnel – those are ready to send to the authorities the moment the deletening happens.”

 

Steve bit back a smile. _Fuck knows what Sam is making of all of this_.

 

“We also have plans in place for all the major departments, to disseminate information on what’s happened, and what’s going to happen next, and reassure people that their work is going to continue under different people – if it is. We’ll be contacting our hopefully-new-team-leaders as soon as this thing happens, and – _hopefully_ – they’ll take it from there.” Nat raised her eyebrows at Steve, and Steve nodded. Most of the people they’d earmarked to take control of the new SHIELD had no idea that any of this was even going on. They couldn’t be sure that Sharon, or Coulson, or Erik Selvig, or Scott Lang or Hope Van Dyne or even Bruce Banner would want any part of this new organisation – but Steve knew he’d never regret asking any of them, which was enough. “Rhodey, the first task in your new role will be to contact T’Chaka – they have a whole team in Wakanda prepped and ready to step in to fill the gaps.”

“Got it.” Rhodey nodded.

“When we’re ready to do this thing, we’ll need everyone in place – Stark will not be going back into that building after the virus is live, and we’ll all be there to make sure he gets out. The deletening will have to be instigated manually after that, once everyone is clear.”

 

There was a round of solemn nodding.

 

“And then after that” Nat went on, a little smile tugging at her lips “We can just be The Avengers.”

 

**December**

Steve wasn’t at all surprised to find Bucky on the balcony. It was a horrible night, actually, muggy and overcast and the air was full of drizzle…

 

But you can’t see any Christmas decorations, from the balcony.

 

Steve simply walked up beside him, and leant on the rails next to him, and looked up at the stars with him. For a while, neither of them spoke.

 

“Christmas is hard” Steve said, after a few minutes. And Bucky let go of a little breath, and nodded, _yeah_. “I remember my first 21st Century Christmas. Everything seemed wrong, you know? Like all of the really Christmas things, like carolling and stockings and paperchains, were always on the TV but you never saw them in real life. Everyone in real life had outgrown all that stuff and they were all doing trendy, ironic things that just looked like they were making fun of it.” And Bucky laughed at that, and Steve knew he knew. “…And you weren’t here. And I just didn’t know what to do with myself.” Bucky looked over at him then, an apology in his eyes. Steve shook his head, _don’t be stupid, not your fault._

“It gets better then?” Bucky asked instead.

“It gets better.” Steve promised, and looked up at the sky again. “…The thing is, it’s really not all that different. It’s just that you notice the different things more. But – when you’re comfortable somewhere, and you have friends there – then Christmas is just a comfortable time you spend with people you love. And, yeah, the tree might have neon pink starfish baubles on it, but you’re all still sitting around a tree. And more people might have chocolate cake than Christmas pudding after dinner, but you’re all still sitting around a table eating together – and anyway, Christmas pudding is awful.” And Bucky laughed again. He’d always hated Christmas pudding, even back when it was considered a treat.

 

“…Would you want to go back?” Steve asked, after another pause. And Bucky shook his head – but Steve still felt the need to clarify “Because you could, you know.” Bucky glanced over at him then, intrigued. “…There are three vials of Pym Particle left, still. And I know that Tony could make another suit, and another GPS. If you wanted to go back, when the other Steve does…” But Bucky smiled, and shook his head again.

“I can’t go _back_ , Steve.” He sighed. “I’m not like he is – he doesn’t know he ever left, so he didn’t. He isn’t different yet. But me going back to 1945 isn’t me going back to being Bucky Barnes in 1945. It’d be who I am now, being in 1945… and I don’t think who I am now would get on so well there.” He cast a sad eye over his metal arm, before he went on “The things I’ve… I think maybe I’m where I need to be, now. Maybe this era is best for who I am _now_ – I’m sure these people are best for me, anyway. Especially as you’re here, too. It’s just… going to take some getting used to being here anyway, you know?”

 

Steve just blinked at him.

 

“…It took me _fifteen years_ to work that out.” He told him, eventually.

“Yeah, well, I’m quite a bit smarter than you” Bucky smirked. And Steve could only smile back, for a moment.

 

“…You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Bucky carried on eventually, whether because he was really thinking it or because he just wanted to change the subject, Steve couldn’t say. The answer was the same, regardless.

“About him going to DC? Yeah.” Steve nodded. “Really worried…”

“Well. If anyone lays a hand on him, I’ll rip their throat out.” Bucky replied, with comedic blasé – which Steve knew covered the fact that he really meant it. “If that helps at all.” Steve smiled.

 

“More than you know.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this update - mainly, its because there is some actual plot over the next few updates, and I'm having to write them all at once (on the plus side, that means the next two are also nearly finished now...) anyway, thank you so much for sticking with it, and as ever, really hope you like it!

“Here’s my question: _officially_ speaking, SHIELD is providing everyone’s accommodation, yeah?” Clint spoke into the air, from where he’d sprawled out on the couch.

“Not me and Bucky” Rhodey answered, somewhat smugly. His cover story had nothing to do with SHIELD. On paper, he was in DC for a totally unrelated project on behalf of Stark Industries – who were therefore paying for his apartment. Rhodey and Bucky’s accommodation was very fancy.

“Okay, but my real question is: since Nick, Maria and I are supposed to be here on SHIELD business – just like Tony is, _technically-_ ” And Clint waved his hand in a wide arc, gesturing to the high end luxury of Tony’s hotel suite “Why is _our_ accommodation a budget chain hotel off a freeway?”

“What can I tell you Barton, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” Tony grinned, sitting down on the other couch, next to Rhodey. Clint raised his head to roll his eyes at him.

 

Steve huffed a soft little laugh, but his heart wasn’t really in it. He had been in dull sort of mood since they’d arrived in DC. For weeks, ‘DC’ had been a vague idea, just the words in his head _Tony is going to be working for Hydra in two weeks, in a week, in three days…_ And that had been bad enough. But now he knew what it looked like. He’d seen the suite that he, Tony and Nat would be staying in for the next couple of months. He knew the bed Tony would be getting out of each day, before he reported to work on Operation Insight. Steve was sitting on the same little love seat he might be sitting on, when he got a dreadful, life-altering call. He could picture it all so much better now, even the bits he still couldn’t see. Tony standing over a work desk in that bunker, giving instructions to a team of Hydra agents… realising too late that there was no way out of that room… trying frantically to think of a way to call Steve, not having time before-

 

“-Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve snapped out of his train of thought, and looked over at Rhodey.

“…You’re coming to us, tomorrow, when Tony’s in the office?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve nodded, thinking that _the office_ was a sinister sounding euphemism…

 

But then, he couldn’t find a nice word for it.

 

He was barely aware of the others making their goodbyes. He was too busy thinking of where everyone was staying, the relative distances between each point, how quickly he could get to Tony from each of those places…

 

Five minutes, he thought, if he had to _run_ from Bucky and Rhodey’s apartment. Maybe ten, from where Clint was staying. So much could happen in ten minutes. Well, so much could happen in ten seconds – if someone decided to shoot Tony in the back, there wouldn’t be any getting to him from anywhere-

 

He could _feel_ Tony looking at him.

 

“Hey you.” Tony spoke softly, when Steve glanced up at him. Steve felt it warm though his chest… the kindness in Tony’s voice… the _knowing_ tone…

 

_He knows_

 

There was such a sense of comfort, such a sense of _relief_ , to think that Tony could see him struggling.

 

Steve knew it hadn’t always been this way. He remembered, in what felt like another life entirely, how he’d hated being vulnerable in front of anyone – _especially_ Tony. How he’d seen it as a weakness, a failure, a mistake that could only come back to haunt him, when people figured out how to use it. He remembered the way he’d tried to cover it, how important that had seemed at the time.

 

He hadn’t realised how important it was to be _known_ by someone, for the reality of yourself to exist for someone else. He’d never considered that being weak in front of someone would make him feel _more_ secure. That it would feel like a safety net under all of his obligations, something he could fall into and rest. He’d never guessed that he’d feel better about himself, if he said all his deepest worries and regrets out loud-

 

But then, he never would have believed he’d find someone that would still look at him like _that_ , when he did. Maybe, if he’d known that someone – not just someone, _Tony Stark_ – would carry on loving him, unquestioningly support him, exactly as he was-

 

Well, he wasn’t going to guess that, was he? He could hardly believe it was happening now.

 

“Tell me what you’re worried about” Tony asked, walking over to sit with him.

“Losing you” Steve smiled, sadly. “Same as always.”

“I’m not going anywhere” Tony promised.

“But you don’t know that nothing will _take_ you.” Steve sighed. And he knew there was no answer to that, and so did Tony – but sometimes it helped to say it anyway. It made it less of a monster in the dark. Tony smiled.

 

“You know, I have a team of Avengers looking out for me. I have an AI that’s more intellectually evolved than most Hydra goons. I’m wearing a watch that could kill a person. If I were a normal billionaire genius, the type who didn’t go on undercover Hydra missions, you wouldn’t have any of that to make you feel better…”

 

And Steve was just thinking about all of that, when Tony went on.

 

“But it doesn’t make you feel better, does it?”

 

And the answer was immediate and obvious, whether it was reasonable or not.

 

“No. Not really.”

 

“Because you’re not really worried because this mission is so dangerous.” He said, running a gentle hand over Steve’s shoulder “You just worry. Because you already lost someone you loved.”

 

He didn’t say, _because you already lost me once._ He didn’t have to.

 

And he was right, of course.

 

Steve exhaled, slowly, and nodded.

“I’m sorry” He sighed, after a moment “I know this is all… _my_ stuff…I know it’s over the top, and I’m being ridiculous, and I don’t mean to bring all that into everything…”

“Hey, if it’s your stuff it’s my stuff” Tony corrected, sounding genuinely territorial over it.

“I don’t want it to be my stuff” Steve managed a joyless laugh “I don’t want to spend all my time thinking about things that could happen to you. I don’t want to feel like this. And I definitely don’t want to stop you being _you_ , even if that is a health hazard in itself sometimes…”

 

And then he looked at Tony again, looking so concerned, and sort of… helpless… And Steve knew it wasn’t rational, and he _knew_ it wasn’t what Tony was thinking, but he couldn’t help feeling like Tony must be so frustrated with all of this. For all of Tony’s kind reassurances, Steve still just wished these issues weren’t here. That they could just be a normal couple, that Tony didn’t have to love him in spite of these scars – that he didn’t have to spend his life competing with and compensating for a dead version of himself.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m know, I’m a hot mess.” Steve tried to smile, tried to make light of the situation… tried to find some path away from the unanswerable questions, for Tony

“You’re not a hot mess” Tony answered warmly, “You just went through something horrible, and it’s still hard sometimes. That’s okay. I mean, I know it’s not _okay_ …” But Steve managed a real smile for him that time, so he carried on, “And, anyway, I like that you worry about me. I mean… I hope you never stop worrying about me altogether…”

 

And Steve liked _that_ ; at least that much was simple.

 

“Do you think I’ll always be like this?” Steve just said it. Not a nagging, unarticulated worry at the back of his mind, not a vulnerability he had to stop Tony from seeing. Steve had a question, and everything he had now was for Tony. Tony was the other half of him, not a spectator or a competitor or a prize, but _part_ of him. That made him feel a bit better, too.

 

And the way Tony considered it, as though the question mattered. Not to placate Steve, or humour him, or find what he thought Steve wanted to hear. Thinking about Steve’s question as if it was his own.

 

“I think some things change you” Tony mused, after a moment “But then, I think that’s what’s supposed to happen, right? You are the product of your experiences, you learn from what you go through, yada, yada, yada… People never mind that, when it’s the good stuff… Like, I’m definitely less, I don’t know, _concerned with appearances?_ Since Afghanistan… _less_ shallow, anyway…”

“You’re not shallow” Steve frowned, and Tony shot him a mock impatient look, _can you let me get through a neurotic anecdote without sticking up for me, for once?_ And Steve smiled back, _again, no._ So, Tony sighed dramatically, barely concealing a grin before he carried on,

“The point is, no one thinks of any of that as a _scar_. Being Iron Man isn’t a _scar_ – but, you know, it is a permanent change in me. Something _they_ did to me, forever. And then there are other things… nightmares, and panicking to death every time I get out of breath in case I have a heart attack, before I remember that you swept in and made it all better and now I’m not going to.” He looked, pointedly, at Steve.

“You still do that?” Steve whispered, sadly.

“A bit” Tony admitted, tilting his head “But, not as much as I used to. I mean, I get out breath less, for a start. But, even then… sometimes I forget to panic. And sometimes, when I panic, it’s not as bad or for as long as I used to, before I remember. So, I guess the answer to your question is, yeah, I think it gets better – even if it doesn’t get _better_ …” Tony pulled a face, _you know what I mean_. And yeah, Steve did. “Maybe, after a while, you worry less. You get longer to just live in between. And then, even still… maybe you’re just a bit of a worrier, now. Because, you know, life. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s just… a thing?”

 

And again, Steve didn’t really know why that made him feel better. But it did.

 

“And, you know, maybe some of those changes are even good things” Tony added, more cautiously. “I mean, obviously, I didn’t know a version of you that hadn’t… been through all that, and then travelled through time… but I know that the person I’m looking at must’ve been affected by that, changed by it, maybe… and I love everything about you” And he looked at Steve then, and Steve felt a rush of feeling fill his chest. “So, y’know, some of those changes must’ve been good, right?”

“If you love me, everything’s good.” Steve smiled, leaning in to kiss him at last.

 

And, for that moment at least, he really meant it.

 

*

 

Rhodey’s apartment had been designated as Avengers HQ for the duration of the mission. Mainly because no one wanted to compromise Sam’s actual address, and everywhere else had been booked by the organisation they were trying to bring down. That meant it was the only place safe enough to house all of the contraband. The live feed from Tony’s concealed bug. The specialist computer equipment needed for the deletening. Bucky.

 

Steve – being _a worrier_ these days, apparently – had been pretty anxious about Bucky being on this mission. Pleased that he felt ready to do it, and glad that everyone wanted him there, but still. He’d been concerned that Bucky would be pushed into something that he wasn’t ready for, end up feeling responsible for something he couldn’t prevent… just not get on with Rhodey, even. But, after three days, he’d realised that Bucky was officially more comfortable in this apartment than he was.

 

 _He_ couldn’t keep his eyes off of the live feed from Tony – even when it wasn’t his shift.

 

Tony was wearing a tiny camera, concealed in the seam of his jacket. Upgraded using Wakandan technology, it was quite literally invisible and provided a high definition image of everything Tony did during the day. Sam, Bucky and Rhodey had each taken turns to monitor the video feed, and _they_ spent the rest of day rereading their background data and trading theories, cooking and chatting. Occasionally, Steve was distantly aware of a burst of laughter, a tone he recognised as Bucky winding someone up.

 

By day three, no one bothered to ask if Steve was going to join in. Steve was quite obviously focussed entirely on Tony. He watched every person that walked by Tony, like a predator waiting for prey to stray into their territory, as if he could have leapt into that screen and pounced on them for getting too close. He scanned every item on Tony’s desk, strained to check every corner, listened out for every scrape and tap and footfall. Even in those rare moments when he was forced to look away, when his eyes were so raw from the screen exposure that they closed of their own volition, he still saw that bunker. He remembered it, even though he’d only seen it for a few moments that day with Nick. Even when he was looking at the floor, blinking away the dryness, Steve could still see all the places a potential attack could come from.

 

When, at last, he watched Tony gather his things to leave for the day, Steve felt that now familiar headache overwhelm him. Who knew that sitting silently for nine hours could be so exhausting? Still listening – _he’s not in the clear yet, the quiet moments are when they get you –_ Steve did at least let his head fall into his hands, his neck aching unbearably under the movement. His eyes burned. But Tony was okay. Tony was alive, and that meant nothing hurt, not really. He’d give it a few minutes, wait for Tony to get away from the building, wait for his head to stop spinning, maybe have a glass of water… And then he’d go home to his boyfriend. He’d throw his arms around Tony, and listen to him complain and joke and theorise, and for a while everything would be okay.

 

And then a cup of coffee appeared in his peripheral vision. He looked up at it, staring at it for a full second before he recognised what it was. Before he realised that someone would have to be holding it.

 

Sam.

 

“Oh. God. Thank you.” He mumbled, reaching out to take it. Sam smiled.

“Well, first one I’ve made you” He observed. Steve pinched his lips. He realised this would be the first drink he’d had all day, and his initial reaction was a stirring of shame. That was _ridiculous_ , wasn’t it? It crystallised for Steve exactly how tuned out he’d been for the last three days. The fact that he’d barely said a word to Sam, or anyone else.

 

He took a slow mouthful of his drink. It stung his throat.

 

“Well, I’ve not made you one either” Steve answered eventually, his voice scratchy. “Sorry. I’m not normally quite such terrible company, I swear.” Sam shrugged amiably, keeping his eyes on Steve. He left a pause before he asked.

“You’re carrying a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled heavily, “You could say that…” He was pleased Sam didn’t just assume he was an asshole, at least.

“Anything I can hold for a little while?” Sam asked, casually, like he was asking whether Steve wanted anything from the kitchen. And Steve liked that. He thought it was a nice way of putting it.

“No, not really.” He smiled “It’s… this is just going to be hard until it’s over, I think.”

“You don’t freak out like this when he’s being Iron Man…?” Sam pushed, just a little – just like he had the first time Steve met him, thinking about it. And, just like then, Steve found himself answering.

“Eh… not as much as this… more than I used to, before…”

“But this is different?”

“Yeah, this one is definitely worse…” And Steve took another mouthful of coffee, and thought… _I hope this one is worse_.

 

He just had to keep hoping that it was a specific, one-time mix of circumstances.

It was just because Tony was more vulnerable during this mission than he would be usually…

It was just because Steve felt guilty…because going after SHIELD in 2011 was his plan, this had all been at his instigation, he'd helped set this up, set Tony up…it was supposed to be _him_ going under cover….

 

That he wasn’t going to be worried like _this_ every time Tony did something out of the ordinary. That he wasn’t _really_ beginning to panic every time Tony put on the suit, or starting to fear the ideas that would fill his head if anything did happen – that it was just being in DC that was making it all feel like that.

 

That he wasn’t getting more nervous, the longer he spent in this new life. That this wasn’t something that was getting _worse_.

 

He wanted to be getting better. He was _supposed_ to be getting better.

 

And if he thought about anything happening to Tony, it was just so close to _thinking_ about what had happened to Tony in the first timeline. Not in the helpful, mature way they’d talked about it up ‘til now, but in the in the dark, uncomfortable way he was meant to have moved beyond.

 

_If something happened to him now, before we get rid of that fucking time travel kit, I’ll have to think about why I can’t just do it again… why it’s okay that I did it the first time…_

“I think, once we’ve taken SHIELD down, and we’re not the little guys going up against the big, evil organisation, I’ll feel better” Steve said, for his own benefit rather than Sam’s “And, when he’s not literally _surrounded_ by them, and when he’s in the suit… Yeah, I think I’ll feel better after this.”

 

Tony had given him such a nice, neat way to think about it – as always. Maybe he was just a bit of a worrier now, because, you know, life… Steve _wanted_ it to be that. He wanted to convince himself that this was all a natural extension of something like that… not… well, something else…

 

And then, like the low wail of an air raid siren shattering a peaceful suburban scene, Steve heard Peirce’s voice.

 

“So, how’re things looking?”

 

Steve snapped away from his internal monologue, away from Sam and the room they were in, immediately and totally immersed in the image on the screen. Piece, standing a few feet away from Tony, with two suspiciously well build _engineers_ that Steve hadn’t liked the look of during the team introductions. An automatic scan of Tony’s environment told Steve that his work desk was completely clear, the computer screen blank – he’d been maybe thirty seconds from leaving.

 

 _And that’s when they get you – Jesus, why did you look away then_?

 

But Pierce continued to babble harmlessly for a few moments more, _what do you make of the project, what’re your estimates, what do you need – what’re your plans for the weekend._ Tony, of course, didn’t blink. He rattled off his answers so naturally, sounding professional on the edge of impatient to go home for the day. And then, one little observation, dropped into a long list of comments…

 

“I mean, your main limitation is the necessary disconnect between the engines and the tracking and targeting software. So that means you’re going to have to choose your priorities, in terms of performance…”

 

He didn’t even leave a gap for anyone to ask what he meant. But, of course, one of the engineers interrupted, _what disconnect, what limitations_?  

 

“Well, if I don’t have access to the software you’re using to target this thing, I can’t design the hardware to be intelligent…” Tony sighed, totally ignoring the little flash of interest in Peirce’s eyes. “…and that means the design of the engines can’t be part of the most efficient design for the overall project. You can only design the most efficient engine in and of itself…” As though he’d completely accepted that he wouldn’t get access to the targeting software. As though he wasn’t even asking. Just point out the facts as they were.

 

But still, it left an ominous pause, an atmosphere that was tangible even via secret video link. Steve felt Sam holding his breath along with him, right up until Pierce asked, in a nervous voice,

 

“…You want to see the algorithm?”

 

And Steve had tensed, digging his nails so hard into the couch fabric that he might’ve just cost Stark Industries a security deposit. He heard someone shift behind him, and realised that Rhodey and Bucky had fallen in line behind the couch, watching with the same rapt attention.

 

But Tony just set his shoulders – Steve could tell from the way the camera moved – as though he wasn’t sure why Pierce had brought that up. As though this was the first time Tony had ever stopped to think if that would help…

 

“…Well, no, seeing the algorithm wouldn’t matter. It’s got nothing to do with the algorithm, per se, that’s just the specific on the day, as it were. It’s the system the algorithm is being put _into_ that’s the point…”

Steve felt the slightest hint of relief at that. That _felt_ like the right answer. Mainly, because it felt like the answer least likely to antagonise the people Tony was with – screw what it meant for the mission as a whole…

 

Steve saw a thoughtful little smile on Peirce’s face, just the wrong side of smug, and felt a hot rash of fury at not knowing what it meant.

 

“But you don’t _need_ that access to complete the engines?”

“…No.” Tony sounded outright mocking then, _obviously not, that’s what I was saying._

 

Steve found himself willing Tony to back away. Not thinking even remotely as an Avenger, not even remembering that he had any other loyalty or greater purpose. _Just tell him what he wants to hear and go._

 

And, mercifully, Tony seemed to do just that. He promised suborbital flight, without any further access than he had already - he didn’t even undersell it. They’d hit ninety-five per cent of the targets in the first burst, maybe more. They’d probably mop up most of the others anyway, with conventional navigation.

 

Steve could see Pierce thinking.

 

Was it the prospect of one hundred per cent saturation that was dancing behind his eyes? Was it the idea of artificial intelligence, the _feeling_ that there was so much more within his grasp, if he showed Tony just a little bit more…

 

Or was it a quick balance of risks, a calculation of how much Tony really knew – a re-evaluation of how dangerous it was to involve him in the first place?

 

Steve felt himself stand up. He just couldn’t stay seated under the weight of all this nervous energy.

 

And then Peirce nodded, with a friendly little smile, and told Tony to keep him updated, and to enjoy his evening.

 

Steve left it another five seconds before he collapsed back into the couch – but still he kept his eyes on the screen. This time, he didn’t dare look away until Tony was in his car, a good three miles away from SHIELD HQ.

 

The rest of his coffee went cold on the table in front of him.

 

 

Rhodey had been the one to call Nat with an update, and Nat had told him to keep everyone there – Tony could pick her up at the hotel, and they’d both be at the apartment in half an hour. Sam was somewhere in the kitchen, telling Nick to bring Maria and Clint.

 

Which, Steve guessed, left Bucky to deal with the distressed boyfriend.

 

Dealing with panicking by-standers used to be Steve’s job, he remembered, glumly. Back in the first timeline, he was always the one to ask screaming mothers to move back, the one who told angry husbands that they were doing all the could and reassured lost children that their parents would be just fine… He even used to adopt _that_ expression, he thought, as Bucky sat on the table in front of him and looked at him with kind eyes…

 

Oh, God, he was the distressed boyfriend. He wasn’t a part of this team at the moment, he wasn’t helping – in fact, he was actually something else they needed to worry about, right now. An additional concern, something Bucky had been asked to deal with instead of doing something useful-

 

This was all so ridiculous. _He_ was being ridiculous.

 

“I’m fine.” He said, authoritatively. The same voice he used all the time, in the first timeline. His distancing voice. His _Captain America_ voice. Delivered to somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder – because this was a voice you used to address a crowd, not a single person you could make eye contact with. The tone he’d used to say, _eyes up, look sharp_ and _we don’t trade lives_ and _if you get killed, walk it off_. The tone that had once been enough to cover all his anxieties and weaknesses and doubts, that had once been powerful enough to turn meaningless truisms into an aura of leadership. A way of speaking that felt strange and rusty in his mouth now, grown stiff from disuse.

 

And then he looked at Bucky.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder if everything would have been different, if Bucky had been there the first time around. What might have happened if he’d _never_ been allowed to get away with that shit.

 

“You’re _what,_ now?” Bucky demanded, a look on his face like he’d just bitten into something sour. And immediately Steve crumpled, remembering who he was talking to. He screwed his eyes shut, vaguely embarrassed, and tried to shrug, _well, not fine, but, you know_… And, obviously, Bucky was having none of it. “Seriously, though, do you expect me to buy that, or pretend to buy that, or…? What? You don’t _want_ me to think you’re worried about him? Help me out here Steve, because that was a bullshit answer.”

 

And Steve felt deeply uncomfortable – but smiled anyway.

 

“I just mean you don’t have to… _deal with me_ , right now.” Steve sighed “We need everyone on this now, right? So… we don’t need you having to deal with the hysterical loved one – and we really don’t need me _being_ the hysterical loved one. So, I just mean, _it’s_ fine, okay?”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve for a second, as though Steve were some sort of natural curiosity he’d happened across. And then he answered slowly – somewhat _sarcastically_ -

 

“…But I know you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’m not coming over here to comfort a hysterical loved one – and, by the way, I call _not that job_ , when it gets there.” Bucky snorted “I mean, I’m coming over here to see if _you’re_ alright, because I do know you, and I know that this stuff bothers you. To which you say, _I’m fine –_ which is a lie. And then you say we don’t have time for hysterical loved ones – which is irrelevant. So. I’ll start that again. Are you okay?”

 

And Steve sort of collapsed in on himself as he answered,

“No, not at all. Not ever a little bit.”

“Can I do anything?” Bucky went on, in the same matter-of-fact way.

“No.” Steve sighed “That’s the point.”

“But I’m still going to ask.” Bucky observed “…Because, you know, I know you and all.”

 

Steve smiled again.

 

There was a knock at the door – or, to be specific, two short knocks, a pause, and then another two short knocks – before Nick let himself in.

“Hey, is Tony here yet?” Maria asked from just behind him.

“No, not yet.” Steve answered, trying not to sound agitated.

“So, what _exactly_ did he say?” Nick asked, glancing around the room for a response. Rhodey had just stepped up to answer him when they heard the secret knock on the door again. Rhodey gestured, _I’ll let him tell you_ , as Tony and Nat made their way into the apartment.

 

Actually seeing him, it was like the whole world was suddenly in colour again. Somehow, Steve had been totally unprepared for what was a completely predictable reaction, a physical wave of relief that made his whole body feel weak. If it hadn’t been for all the commotion in the room, the volume of people between them, the fact that Steve wasn’t sure he could stand up – but he _wanted_ to run to Tony then. To just hold him against his chest and sob. He should’ve been pleased there were all those barriers to him over-reacting like that… but he wasn’t. He just felt heavy, and sort of … _pinned_ to his place, as Tony began recounting the details of his plan.

 

“…So, I don’t know, I think he’s definitely interested. I think, probably _tomorrow_ , he’s going to either give me access to their system, or he’s at least going to float the idea…” Tony finished, uncertainly, looking around the room for confirmation – _you all saw it, right_?

“He definitely noticed the idea” Rhodey nodded, “ _No way_ he wasn’t thinking about upgrading those engines, by the time you left.”

“I think he’ll take the bait” Sam added. “I mean, I know I don’t know everyone like you guys do, but just looking at him from the outside – I think you’ve hooked him.”

 

Steve felt everyone turn to look at him.

 

He’d been watching that video more closely than anyone. He’d be able to point out the tiniest details, things no one else could have spotted. He was more invested in this answer than anything else on earth. And still, he didn’t know. Steve couldn’t tell what Pierce had been thinking, because he was too consumed with all the things he _could_ have been thinking. He had no idea whether Pierce had bought it, because he was too terrified of the alternative to dismiss it. He was, officially, too close to this to judge it – and that just wasn’t an option.

 

“…I think we have to be prepared for _anything_ to happen tomorrow” Steve answered, very carefully.

“If he _does_ give you access, are you going to run the virus right there and then?” Nat clarified.

“Well – yeah?” Tony frowned “I mean, when I can do it without being spotted, obviously – but why wait?”

“For back up?” Steve tried to make it sound like a casual suggestion – and failed miserably.

“ _Well_ – if we really think that he’s going to go for this, and tomorrow is _the day_ ” Nat leant forward “We could maybe arrange for someone to be there anyway – at least in the building.”

“I’m sure I can arrange for Barton to have a vital meeting at HQ tomorrow” Nick offered.

“We could _all_ be there tomorrow,” Maria corrected, shooting Nick a look “ _you’ve_ even got people who want to see you.”

“That’s why I was suggesting just Barton…” Nick sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. “But, fine.”

“At least that way, if there _is_ anyway for them to uncover what you’re doing, you’ll have a team on site” Nat assured Tony.

 

“But there won’t be” Tony spoke directly to Steve. “The tracker is too small to see, and the software is sound – even the team in Wakanda say so. I’ll set it to run, it’ll copy everything they have, and no one in SHIELD will know.”

“And we delete everything from here, once you’re _way_ clear of the place.” Bucky added, for Steve’s benefit.

“Exactly – and, we alert the authorities, we pass on all the data, we hope a lot of the Hydra team get arrested-”

“Although you can’t have managed to arrest that many of them the first time” Nick observed, wryly “If it was just you, me and Nat, and we gave everyone a huge head’s up by putting it all online first…”

“And Sam.” Steve added, somewhat pointlessly. “…But, yeah. Everything is definitely better this time.”

 

 _None of which means he can’t get hurt_ …

 

“And, on the plus side of things – maybe tomorrow is my last day working for Hydra” Tony added.

 

And that was probably the first thing anyone had said that had _actually_ made Steve feel a bit better. Just a bit.

 

 

*

 

 


	19. The Deletening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, something a little bit different with the format again - we get some other characters POVs, just for a change :-)  
> Also... it be long.  
> Also, thar be plot.  
> Also, I'm really quite nervous about this one 😂

There was at least a sense of camaraderie, that awful, icy Thursday morning.

 

Everyone had gathered in Rhodey’s apartment at six am, for one final run through of the plan. By now, no one was seriously considering that it might just be a regular day. Either, Pierce was going to offer Tony a better look at Hydra’s systems – or he’d spent the night planning how to make Tony disappear…

 

Which just meant The Avengers had to be even better prepared than that. That was all.

 

Nat ran the team through every stage of this plan twice. They discussed code words and signals, rendezvous points and routes of escape, continencies for every possible way this could all go wrong. And then, because they’d all trudged to this meeting through two inches of grey snow, they took the opportunity to describe it one final time – what was really about to happen, if it all went _right_.

 

Overnight, _all_ of Hydra’s files would be erased. They’d have no intelligence on anyone, good or bad, no inside information on cutting edge tech or illegal human experimentation. No way for any Hydra agent to find any other, no projects left for them to work on, no more targets for them to go after. Everything that made this organisation so huge, and powerful, and terrifying, gone, in a sweep.

 

Even as that happened, politicians and civil servants and law enforcement all over the world would be receiving e-mails, automatically flagged as the highest priority – surely _someone_ would be sharp enough to actually read them, and act on the evidence they contained. Hopefully a few of the bigger Hydra players could be detained… like Nick _kept_ saying, it could hardly be a worse mop up job than they’d thrown together the first time.

 

And there would be mass confusion tomorrow, sure. Many keyboards tapped in anger, multiple irate phone calls to IT services, hundreds of middle managers having a really bad day. The finance people would talk about the cost as if it was the end of the world – but no one would actually think that. Everyone would just think their systems were down, that their work would simply have to wait a while, that a few deadlines might get missed or a few hours over time might be needed. And the day _after_ tomorrow, everything would start getting back to normal. The non-Hydra information would magically reappear, the not-evil systems would start to work again. The legitimate departments would get introduced to their new bosses; the legitimate projects could continue. And whatever inconveniences and frustrations and even vulnerabilities they were left with – well, again, better than the first time.

 

_As long as Tony makes it out alive…_

“Okay. Well, since that’s literally _everything_ ” Tony announced, theatrically. “I’m going to head to work…”

 

Steve felt a knot tighten in his gut as he watched Tony shrug his way into his coat. A heavy anxiety that he knew was going to get more and more painful as the day went on. There was a momentary fear that he literally wouldn’t be able to bear it, that he physically _couldn’t_ let Tony walk out of that apartment.

 

But it was stupid, he _knew_ it was stupid – he was going to overcome this. He had to.

 

He followed Tony to the door, though. Tony waited until he was standing in the doorway, until they were out of view of everyone else, to turn around. He put a hand to the side of Steve’s face so tenderly, his eyes full of concern – like it was _Steve_ about to walk into the depths of Hydra with a target on his back.

“It’s going to be okay.” He whispered “ _I promise_ ”

 

Steve pulled Tony against his chest, and put all his love and fear and desperation into a goodbye kiss.

 

_Oh, if this is the last time I ever hold him…_

 

And then Tony broke away, reluctantly. Steve felt the cold absence of him, an immediate urge to grab hold of him again…

 

It would always be there.

 

It really hit him as he watched Tony drive away. That there was no _making the most of it…_ That his pain had never been about the chances he’d missed.

 

He’d thought so many times about the things he _wished_ he’d said, before that final battle. How many times he’d pictured telling Tony, _I’m so sorry for everything, and I’ve always loved you_. How he’d rewritten every conversation they’d ever had, thinking of all the things he should have said - while he had the chance. How he’d lamented the fact that he’d _never_ kissed Tony Stark, not even in those final hours, when nothing mattered anymore.

 

As though it would have helped, if he had.

 

And now Steve realised… He could spend every available minute with Tony, he could take every opportunity to kiss him, he could try to tell Tony exactly how much he loved him, every day, for the rest of his life… and it would still hurt this much to lose him. That he’d spend the rest of his life wanting to see Tony again, however much time he’d made for him before. There was no storing it up, for later. There had never been any protecting himself from this.

 

Oddly, for just a few moments, it made Steve feel a little bit better.

 

And then he had to get back to work – and everything was awful again.

 

*

 

It took less than an hour for Pierce to come and find Tony.

 

Well, actually, it was Rumlow that Steve saw first, walking into the bunker ahead of Pierce like a military escort. Steve had already waved for the team’s attention, before Pierce entered the frame – so, everyone was there to see him make _the_ big offer.

 

“You mentioned something about _intelligent software_ for the engines…?” Pierce mentioned, once the morning pleasantries were done with.

“All software should be intelligent” Tony answered, dismissively.

“…And what does that _mean_ , to you, exactly?”

 

Steve could so imagine the little flicker of interest in Tony’s eyes then. He wouldn’t even have to fake it.

 

“Well, the phrase _artificial intelligence_ is tossed about a lot these days – and, in practice, it’s kind of a fluid term.” Tony sounded more animated now. “But, essentially… if you have a programmable robot, you have to tell it exactly what to do. And, no matter how complex the instructions you come up with, no matter how many scenarios you plan for, that means the robot can always be caught out by something _you_ didn’t think of. But if the robot is an AI, you can just give it an overall goal, and it will work out the best way to achieve it, whatever the circumstances. The best AIs – and by that, I mean _my_ AIs – are the ones that can learn _how_ to learn from their environment. Then it can come up with a _better_ solution than you could ever come up with-”

“And you can apply that principle to the engines themselves?” Pierce interrupted – more excited than irritated.

“-You can apply that principle to almost _anything_ , through different methods, to different degrees. For example, you _could_ design the engines to be adaptable, in and of themselves, or you _could_ design them to integrate with an AI that managed the overall performance of the Helicarrier…”

 

Watching all this, Steve couldn’t tell whether Tony was building his cover story or if he’d _actually_ gotten carried away with the theory of it all.

 

 “So, your ambitions for this project might go further than the design of the engines themselves?” Pierce queried, an infuriating little smile on his lips.

“My ambitions for any project go as far as I can push them” Tony answered casually.  “Show me something, I’ll make it better – that’s how it works.”

 

Pierce considered Tony a moment longer.

 

“Okay. Let me show you something, then.”

 

*

 

Upstairs, in another part of the building entirely, Clint was sitting in a lobby, kicking his feet.

 

Nick and Maria were killing time, talking to one of many SHIELD directors listed as ‘neither good nor evil’, about nothing in particular. Clint had been sitting outside the office for twenty minutes, pretending he was lost in the middle distance while he scrutinised everyone that walked by him. And then he felt his phone buzz in his pocket

 

He knew it wasn’t an emergency – if it was something urgent, he’d have heard about it over the concealed earpiece he was wearing. So he knew he was safe to smile when he saw the name above the text,

 

_Stuart Martha:_

_The caterers said they’ll just send a catalogue_

 

He translated it automatically, the same way he did when he was reading Romanian – _They’ve shown Tony the system, he hasn’t done anything yet._

 

As if on cue, the office door swung open. Clint carried on looking at his phone while Nick shook hands and Maria smiled professionally, finally glancing up when he heard the little click of the door being shut behind them.

 

“Well, we have like four hours before lunch…” Nick sighed. Clint just smiled.

“Actually, seeing as we’re here.” And he saw Nick catch his meaning, even before he finished “I think Agent 13 is in the building today, and you said you wanted to talk to her…?”

 

Nick nodded. It looked like his next meeting wouldn’t be quite such a time waster.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, Pierce and Rumlow had walked with Tony down to a lower level, and stopped outside a reinforced steel door. Pierce smiled as he handed Tony a special pin.

 

“This part of the facility is biometrically controlled,” He explained “This will give you unrestricted access, to both the work area and the actual systems.”

 

Steve knew what it was, obviously. He’d warned Tony what they were – although, from the easy way Tony took his, you’d never know. The Avengers had already discussed this possibility and accepted that, if Tony _was_ going to be given access to the good stuff, it would likely be with a gun at his head. Rumlow had been handed a pin, and attached it awkwardly, like he was well aware of how dangerous it was. When the doors slid open, Steve spotted that every engineer on the other side had one displayed on their lapel

 

_They all have to wear them. It’s not necessarily a set up. It doesn’t mean anyone is planning on using it._

 

But, of course, none of that made Steve feel any better – not with a gun pointed at Tony’s head.

 

“So, this level is home to some of our more special projects” Pierce explained “Including the development work for the targeting system on Operation Insight.”

“Just the targeting system?” Tony chipped in, glancing around the room like a kid at the Worlds Fair.

 

Steve was sure that Hydra buildings looked more Soviet the lower down you went. This new room was less polished than the bunker above it, or even the hidden office in New Jersey where Zola still existed on digital tape. It was a large, dark, hanger-like room, with concrete floors and a low ceiling. One side of the room was taken up with rows and rows of old-fashioned wooden work desks, where developers sat like bored school kids, typing on high tech equipment that didn’t look right in the setting. On the other side of the room were racks and racks of computer towers, thousands of tiny blinking lights shimmering in the shadows. Pierce, Tony and Rumlow were strolling slowly down the middle, as Pierce explained,

 

“Well, like I say, a _lot_ of projects go on down here-”

“But, what I _mean_ is, the targeting system is a separate project, yeah?” Tony carried on interrupting, in that way of his. Steve deeply resented the indulgent smile Pierce flashed him.

“Tell you what, why don’t you have a look for yourself?” Pierce suggested, gesturing to a free computer on one of the nearby desks.

 

“… _He’s in_ …?” Nat announced, somewhat uncertainly, bringing Steve back into the apartment. Everyone looked away from the live feed in a unified whoosh, all giving Nat the same confused frown. She was too busy squinting at her laptop to notice.

“He’s attached the tracker already?” Steve pushed, looking between Nat and the video feed of the bunker. Tony was still walking over to the computer. It wasn’t even turned on yet.

“…Somehow… _yeah_.” Nat confirmed, “Data transfer initiated – we’re already at two per cent.”

“…But he’s not even gotten near to anything yet?” Rhodey said, “What’s he even-”

“The lapel pin” Steve realised aloud. There was a soft huff of recognition from everyone – of course he had.

 

“…Clever boy…” Nat mused to herself, a little smile creeping onto her face. Steve felt a rush of pride, a glow of admiration – a sudden urge to throw his arms around Tony and tell him how wonderful he was…

 

_I will feel this way for the rest of my life…_

 

“Still at two per cent?” Steve spoke over the emotion, with the first thing that he could pull up.

“Yeah – oh, no, wait, three…” Nat narrated, “So, this might not take too long… _Ohhh…_ ” Her eyes lit up, scanning the screen in front of her.

“…What?” Steve tried not to sound irritable.

“…I think I might have access to their surveillance network now – we have more monitors?” Nat glanced at Rhodey for confirmation.

“Yeah, Tony packed a wall of them – I’ll get some set up.”

“And then we might be able to watch _all_ the security footage of the bunker, not just what Tony is seeing…” Nat carried on explaining.

 

Steve managed to register that as good news. More information had to be a good thing – more chances to spot an attack before it happened, more time to get to him… It didn’t make him _feel_ any better, of course…

 

Steve stayed rooted to his seat, his eyes fixed on the feed from Tony, as Bucky, Rhodey and Sam hastily arranged several more screens in an ugly display around them. He was vaguely aware of them flickering into life; the abundance of unnatural light as the surveillance footage flashed up. There was an unsettling little panic in Steve’s gut as he realised there was only so much he could look at – that extra information meant nothing without the capacity to analyse it…

 

“I’ll watch these two, Rhodey these two, you these two?” Bucky asked Sam – purely for Steve’s benefit. _Keep your eyes on Tony. We got this._

 

And then Pierce’s voice interrupted again.

 

“You have a look around, see what you think – if there’s anything you think _should_ be here” He spoke amiably, from somewhere behind Tony. “I’ve got a few people I need to talk to upstairs, but I’ll be back down before lunchtime – I’d be very interested to see what your first impressions are.”

“That I can make all of this better” Tony told him matter-of-factly, not even looking away from the computer he’d just logged into.

“I’m hoping so.” Pierce answered happily, before he walked away.

 

 

*

 

By the time Nick reached Sharon’s office, Clint had already received the second text,

 

_Stuart Martha:_

_Caterer has confirmed_

 

Not that it really mattered. It had never occurred to him that Stark would get access to the system and _not_ attach the tracker – but still, it was nice to know for sure before he had this conversation.

 

Nick left Maria and Clint waiting in the hallway, and strolled in unannounced. If Sharon had any objection, it melted as soon as she looked up and saw who it was.

“Nick!” She beamed, standing up from her desk “Long time no see. How are you?”

“Too long” Nick agreed, walking over to embrace her in a friendly hug. “And I’m good… well, I’m, uh, _busy_ …” He sighed. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Please.” Sharon gestured to the seat on the other side of her desk “What’s up?”

 

“Your aunt must’ve told you lots of stories about Captain America, huh?” Nick asked, as he sat down. He caught the conflicted little look in Sharon’s eyes as she sank into her own chair again.

“Yeah. Lots….” She sighed sadly “They, uh… they were kinda different from the stories I’m hearing these days…”

 

Nick bit back a smile. He knew there weren’t many people who’d heard about Steve, in any capacity – but it made sense that Sharon was one of them. Which meant she’d been part of the audience for Nick’s increasingly ridiculous cover stories about Steve’s debauchery… He should probably have felt bad for that.

 

“So, who do you think is more likely to be right – your aunt, or the agents you’re hearing these stories from...?” He asked, in a wise tone. Sharon raised her eyebrows at him, an optimistic little smile tugging at her lips.

“So where _are_ these stories coming from…?” She asked, knowingly.

“Me.” Nick smirked.

“You?”

“You know I’m the one running surveillance on him, right?” Nick reminded her “You already know that these stories are coming from me.”

“…But you’re making them up?” Sharon clarified.

“ _Of course_ I’m making them up” Nick grinned “You really think the man your aunt told you about hosted an orgy for new year?”

“…But _why_ are you making them up?”

 

Nick let his amused expression melt into something more serious before he went on.

 

 “Just remember, while I’m telling you this – you already know Peggy was right about him.”

 

*

 

“Fourteen per cent” Nat announced, robotically. Steve bit his bottom lip. It seemed as though it had taken hours to get that far; he really wasn’t sure he could do it eight times over again.

 

By now, he’d picked out Tony on the surveillance footage, switching from looking at that to looking at the feed from Tony’s bug, like someone watching a tennis match. His neck was beginning to ache with the repetitive strain of it. But, on the plus side of things, Rumlow was clearly beginning to lose focus. His posture was more relaxed than it had been, his eyes frequently drifting from whatever Tony was doing-

 

“Have we got a feed from that elevator?”

 

It was the tone of Sam’s voice that got Steve’s attention. His blood ran cold before he could even think about what Sam had said.

“What elevator?” Nat asked, concerned.

“…Pierce got into an elevator on the tenth floor, like, five whole minutes ago…” Sam explained, his voice still too high. Everyone immediately looked towards his screen, scrutinising an image of an empty hallway.

“And you’re sure he didn’t get out?” Nat spoke over a burst of frantic typing.

“I was watching, to see where – I don’t think the elevator’s even moved-”

“I don’t think we have a camera there-”

 

And then the elevator doors slid open – still on the tenth floor.

 

Pierce stepped out. Too formally. Too stiff.

 

He glanced up. There was a focus in his eyes that was unmistakable.

 

Steve felt his heart lodge in his throat.

 

 _He knows_.

 

There was one second, maybe two, in which Steve was literally frozen with fear. It seemed to move in slow motion, as Steve watched Pierce lean into his own chest just so, his lips moving faintly - _talking into a comms system_

 

Steve looked at the surveillance footage of Tony, already knowing he’d see Rumlow with his hand to his ear. _Receiving his instructions._

 

“They know” He managed to croak. And then, louder “Tony’s cover’s blown.”

 

And with that, the whole world came back to him in a deafening rush. He had to _move_.

 

He jumped to his feet, vaguely aware of the chorus of objections behind him – _what, when, hold on –_ he was already running away from it. He cleared the coffee table in front of him in a single bound, almost knocking into the monitors as he threw himself at the front door.

 

It was like running in a dream. The apartment melted into an urban Washington neighbourhood, faded through to a busy road, broke down into incoherent flashes alongside Steve as he just _ran_. There were images of cars, angry cyclists, anonymous buildings and signposts and street furniture. And snow. Bitter, unforgiving snow everywhere he looked… Just like in Siberia. Just like the day he crashed that plane. Dirty, grey snow, like the layer of ash that had fallen over New York… like the ash that had covered the whole world after Thanos’ snap… like the ash that had settled on Tony’s body, after he died saving the universe.

 

_Not again. Not again. Not again._

 

It thrummed through Steve’s body, with every heavy footfall, with every agonised beat of his heart.

 

He’d forgotten the plan. He’d forgotten about SHIELD, and Hydra, and even The Avengers. He wasn’t Captain America anymore, he wasn’t a time traveller or a hero. He didn’t care about saving SHIELDs files or saving the world or saving lives – only one life. That was all that mattered. All of Steve was for Tony, his only aim was to keep Tony safe, his only identify was as Tony’s protector.

 

His only choice was to save him. He _had_ to get there in time.

 

He _had_ to.

 

*

 

Nat jumped up as soon as Steve did. She delivered the warning automatically, _Tony’s cover’s been blown, you need to get down there now, _her eyes fixed on the surveillance footage of Tony as she spoke.

 

She saw him hear it.

She watched him stand up from the computer, and slowly reach for the collar of his jacket.

She saw Rumlow lift his gun, and press it against Tony’s head.

_…боже_ _мой._

 

“Bucky, bring the car around” She ordered in a level voice. Bucky jumped up immediately, and raced for the front door “Rhodey, I’m going to need you to raise the alarm before you follow us – just call the red line contacts, and make sure the e-mails have gone out before you suit up”

“Got it” Rhodey nodded, already slipping his phone out of his pocket. Nat turned her attention to Sam.

“You remember how all this works?” She asked, gesturing to her laptop.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Right, I’m going to need you to stay here, and monitor all of this. I need eyes on the surveillance footage and I need you to make sure the data transfer isn’t interrupted.”

“Yes Ma’am” Sam nodded again.

“The more that gets transferred over, the more access you’ll have to their system – the more control you’ll have.” Nat was speeding up as she explained, willing herself to the end “I need you to let me know when we have more options, and I’ll need you to be ready to use them.”

“I’m on it.” Sam assured her.

 

An impatient car horn bleared outside, three short blasts.

 

Nat gave Rhodey and Sam one final nod before she ran out to get in the car.

 

 

*

 

Tony got the same message as everyone else.

 

_Tony’s cover’s blown. You need to get down there now._

 

He tried to keep his breathing even as he stood up.

 

_Try not to draw attention. Just get the pin away from your neck._

 

But, as he put his hands to his collar, he heard that unmistakable little _click_ – right next to his ear.

 

“Don’t move.” Rumlow warned him – jabbing the barrel of his gun against Tony’s head for emphasis.

“…I’m just taking my jacket off?” Tony frowned.

“No. You aren’t.” Rumlow told him, his voice dark.

“Okay. You’re the armed Nazi assassin” Tony mocked-

 

 _Don’t antagonise him_.

 

But he didn’t think it in his own voice. It was Steve’s voice in Tony’s head, a plea rather than a warning; _please don’t antagonise him Tony. Please don’t leave me._

 

Tony swallowed down his next insult, and dropped his hands.

 

A few years ago, he might’ve risked an attack, or an outlandish escape plan. He absolutely would’ve risked another barbed comment, or three. But a few years ago, it was only his own heart he was carrying – it was his risk to take. And if it had all gone wrong back then, sure, Rhodey would’ve been devastated. Pepper and Happy would have mourned him, he knew. But they would all have carried on, and one day they would have moved on, and Tony had always known it. He knew Steve wouldn’t. As hard as it was to believe, it was impossible to deny – Steve _loved_ him, in a way no one ever had before. In a way that meant Tony had to make this decision for both of them now, because both of them would end today, if he did.

 

And maybe he could’ve ignored that – resented the responsibility of it, even – if Steve had ever once tried to put it on his shoulders. If Steve had done what everyone did, and tried to protect himself by controlling Tony. If he’d once tried to manipulate or negotiate or bully Tony out of taking a chance. Tony had grown so used to people worrying on his behalf, he’d just accepted that there would be safeguards and caveats built into his every plan before he even stated planning it… and then there was Steve. Telling him, _you just be you, and I’ll support you in it, and love you for it, and if that ends up killing me one day, so be it._ Telling him relentlessly, _showing_ him at every opportunity, until Tony had no choice but to accept this new reality. Steve wasn’t going to have one hand on the back of his shirt; Steve was going to let Tony _run_ , without a single thought for his own suffering.

 

And if Steve really _wasn’t_ going to prioritise his own feelings when it came to Tony… then Tony  would have to.

 

Because Tony _loved_ Steve.

 

And the thought of dying in this bunker didn’t scare him. The thought of being tortured by Hydra, experimented on, brainwashed… none of that made him want to run away. None of _that_ made him think twice about throwing another little dig at Rumlow.

 

But the thought of Steve, having to carry his body, _again_

The very idea of Steve, his beautiful, sweet, strong Steve, suffering like that…

 

“Okay.” He told Rumlow, softly, “Whatever you say.”

 

Rumlow made a little smirking noise and took half a step back – but he didn’t lower his gun. Then he turned to yell an order across the room.

 

“Everybody out.” He barked “Insight HQ. Now.”

 

The rows of developers stood up, wearily, like it was the bi-monthly fire drill. They filed right past Tony, faces blank, not even interested in the man being held at gun point at his desk. Tony pushed through a wave of nausea. Rumlow must have some fairly dark plans, if he wasn’t comfortable acting in front of these inhuman bastards.

 

_You promised Steve it would be okay. You promised_

 

 “If you’re going to shoot me in the head anyway, you might as well let me give you some bonus information first, right?” Tony said, not sure what tone to aim for. He’d only ever used _cocky asshole_ in these circumstances, before now.  “That’s what you do, right? You collect information, you _spy_?”

 

Just stalling for time. Just thinking how to keep himself alive, for as long as he could.

 

“I _do_ whatever I’m ordered to do.” Rumlow informed him “And right now, I’ve got orders to keep you here, and to kill you if you try anything.”

 

Tony nodded, and dropped his eyes.

 

*

 

Sharon had been sitting quietly for a few minutes, processing everything Nick had told her.

 

Nick _had_ planned to give her as long as she needed. He knew that it would be a personal blow for Sharon, to discover what had become of Peggy’s legacy – to think who she’d been working for, for the last few years. He already knew she believed him. He knew, when it came to it, she’d be on their side. But he’d hoped that she’d have a little while to get it all straight in her head, first.

 

And then he heard Nat’s voice in his hear.

 

_Tony’s cover’s blown. You need to get down there now._

 

Well. Bang went that plan.

 

“We have to move.” He said simply, jumping to his feet. Sharon looked at him in alarm.

“It’s happening _now_?” She asked – but she went with him.

 

Clint and Maria were already standing, weapons subtly drawn, when Nick threw open the door. They’d all heard the same ominous message. Nick wasted no time on words; he just made for the north staircase, trusting that everyone would follow him.

 

They made it as far as the foyer before Nick noticed anyone looking at them. A distinct ripple of interest as more and more people turned watch them, a subtle lowering of the volume around them as the general chatter faded out…

 

 _Shit_.

 

Nick looked longingly towards the fire door at the very back of the room. Frantically trying to calculate how far away it was, trying to visualise their route to the bunker – as though that would make it happen any faster. As though he could will those events into being.

 

As though he didn’t already know what was coming.

 

A crowd of agents was gathering in front of them. Any hopes of slipping by them evaporated. Nick slowed to a hesitant stop as the barricade thickened, people starting to crowd in at the sides of them too.

 

He glanced back for the first time since he’d left Sharon’s office. Clint and Maria were just behind him, one on each side of him, sharing the same nervous look. But Sharon wasn’t. Nick turned to do a scan of the room, finally picking Sharon out of the crowd several feet away. She must’ve dropped back when she realised they were being watched… she’d managed to distance herself before they’d really caused a scene…

 

Sharon made sure to catch Nick’s eye, fixing him with an intense look – and then she slipped back further, melting away from view.

 

Nick swallowed hard.

 

“Agent Fury.” Nick snapped his head up, and came face to face with an agent he vaguely recognised. “I’m going to have to ask you all to come with me.”

 

Agent Kowalczyk, Nick remembered. Neither good nor evil. One of hundreds of agents who had no idea what SHIELD was doing, no actual culpability – no reason to question an order from above. Two kids and a wife with osteoarthritis. Who knew he’d stored those facts away somewhere?

 

Nicks fingers flexed as he thought about the gun in his holster. He, Maria and Clint could’ve taken this whole room, he was certain –

 

But they couldn’t.

 

This wasn’t an enemy combatant. This wasn’t a Hydra thug. This was a family man, following orders from Pierce exactly the same as Nick would have, less than two years ago.

 

_Tony’s cover’s been blown. We need to get down there, now_

“I outrank you.” Nick reminded Kowalczyk – stalling for time while he tried to think of a solution.

“I have my orders.” Kowalczyk replied, almost apologetically. The agents behind him were moving into a more organised formation… some of them were on the Hydra list, Nick was sure…

“Order’s from who?” Nick demanded –

 

And then the air around him split apart, as a high-pitched alarm sounded at devastating volume.

 

Everyone was forced to flinch and throw their hands over their ears. For a second Nick was rendered helpless by it, just like everyone else, unable to think over the incessant, painful noise of it.

 

And then, before he had a chance to right himself, there was the deep grinding clatter of the emergency shutters slamming down over every window.

 

Then a roar of confused indignation from the gathered masses as the lights were all cut, a suffocating second of total darkness before the emergency lighting kicked in.

 

Nick tried to blink, tried to make sense of the sudden swirl of shadows around him, tried to hear his own thoughts over that _constant fucking siren._ And then he realised-

 

_Sharon._

_Distraction._

 

Without a further thought, Nick threw a punch right at Kowalczyk’s jaw – hey, better that than a bullet to the head. He heard the wet thud of several blows behind him, and figured that Clint and Maria both got the idea-

 

Sharon had triggered this alarm to buy them some time – so they damn well better use it.

 

He pulled his gun anyway, using it to smack someone across the back of the head as he forced his way forward. He elbowed the next agent out of the way, narrowly avoiding a blow from another, shoulder barging someone else aside as he continued to barrel ahead. They just had to get to the north staircase. They _had_ to get to the bunker.

 

There was a crackle of gunfire somewhere off to his left. He heard Clint swear, somewhere just ahead of him, immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass. Another loud bang, a sharp rush of air and a zipping sound, far too close to his head. Shouts and shots coming from a long way behind them now, as the brawl they’d started spread back through the crowd.

 

Nick wasn’t even sure how he knew where he was going. How he’d managed to find the door amongst the darkness and the danger and the noise – but he had. He threw it open, almost tripping down the first flight of stairs, he’d pushed through it with such force. Clint and Maria crashed into him.

 

“Down two floors” Nick gasped, as his exhaustion collapsed over him “Secure elevator – left of the lobby”

 

The three of them took the stairs four at a time, while the room they’d left behind descended into chaos.

 

*

 

Steve made it to SHIELD HQ in under four minutes, as it turned out.

 

He marched through the main entrance without any thought for stealth, already knowing that he’d just _put down_ anyone that tried to stop him. A quick assessment of his surroundings told him that there was something going on in the building – a notable steam of people heading towards the centre staircase, a low buzz of frantic radio messages being exchanged all around him… probably related, he noted, but irrelevant to him right now. Right now, he just had to get to that bunker.

 

That meant he’d need to get access somehow.

 

The intensity and singularity of that purpose was oddly calming. Steve wasted no thought or feelings on the wider context, the long term consequences or even the morality. He just thought about what he’d need to get this done.

 

_Someone I can convince, or manipulate, or intimidate into helping me._

_-Intimidate is faster._

And, just as he made that basic calculation, his eyes fell on a familiar figure, standing by the main reception desk. A nervous little man, engrossed in a frenetic conversation on his cell phone.

 

Jasper Sitwell.

 

_Fucking perfect._

 

Steve stalked over to him in a few fluid steps. Sitwell barely had time to look up, before Steve had snatched the phone out of his hands and thrown it into the floor with as much force as he could muster. It _shattered_ , almost into dust, and when Sitwell looked up at Steve his eyes were more frightened than outraged.

“What th-” But his objection was cut short, as Steve gripped him by the throat and lifted him a foot off of the floor.

“I need access to the special projects bunker, underneath Project Insight” He explained, his voice hard and cold. Sitwell made a guttural, choking sound, his face turning red. Steve loosened his grip just enough to let him speak.

“You’re mad” Sitwell croaked, clawing fruitlessly at Steve’s hand. Steve tightened his grip again, and leaned in closer

“Yes.” He whispered “I _am_. So now you have to ask yourself – what do you _really_ think happens, after you die?” He watched Sitwell’s eyelids flutter, his throat spasming under Steve’s fingers “Do you think there really is an afterlife, or do you think it all just _ends_? Do you think there was a point to all of this? Because this could be _the_ moment you find out, Jasper, this could be the moment your whole fucking life was leading up to. So.”

 

He loosened his grip again,

 

“Do you want to say something deep and meaningful, to end it with – _or do you want to take me to that fucking bunker?”_

 

He fixed Sitwell with a glare, and watched him try to wilt away from it, even as he struggled against Steve’s chokehold.

 

He stopped scratching at Steve’s arm, and began scrambling through his pockets. Steve watched him search, frantically, for a few seconds before he pulled something out with a flourish. Steve glanced to Sitwell’s trembling hand, and recognised one of the biometric lapel pins.

 

_That would do._

 

Steve dropped Sitwell into a graceless heap as he snatched the pin from him. He didn’t glance down as he stepped over him, already thinking of the fastest route to Tony.

 

*

 

Tony stood in silence for a few long minutes, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle of Rumlow’s chest.

 

His mind raced, disjointed ideas bouncing off the inside of his head like rubber balls, never falling into any sort of pattern. Any plan he tried to form just brought him back to the same horrible image. Steve, breathless and panicked and still full of tragic hope, bursting into this bunker to find Tony’s lifeless body on the floor…

 

_No._

 

So, he stood quietly, until at long last the steel doors opened with a soft _whoosh_.

 

Pierce sauntered in, a smarmy smile on his face.

 

“You lied to me.” he observed, like it was a cheerful little titbit he was sharing in the breakroom. Tony set his teeth.

 

“Yeah.” He breathed. “Yeah, so how about I stop doing that, hm?”

 

Pierce smirked at him, and then looked at Rumlow.

 

“I’m going to need you with the strike team, in the main building.” He said, casually “The shit is going to hit the fan any minute now.”

 

Tony felt an inch of relief as the gun barrel dropped out of his line of sight. He glanced up just in time to see Rumlow sneer at him, before nodding at Pierce and walking away.

 

Pierce kept his gaze fixed on Tony, as Rumlow’s footsteps echoed into the distance.

 

“I’ve infected all of your systems with a virus, which is currently copying and encrypting every byte of data that Hydra has.” Tony explained eventually, his voice low and even. Pierce just smiled.

“I know.” And then he gestured to the pin on Tony’s jacket “That was armed the moment you put it on.” He took a little square device out of his pocket, and held it up to Tony, and gave it a little wave “I hit a button, and you’re left with a two-inch hole in your sternum.”

“I know.” Tony sighed. “But, if you do that, you’ll never get your data back. I’m the only one who knows that code. Any chance of retrieving that data dies with me.”

“ _But_ , if you complete your little mission today” Pierce went on, “If that transfer gets completed, and the data gets deleted forever, then I’ll have no reason to keep you alive, will I?”

 

Tony’s mind was already racing ahead of the conversation. He was somewhat surprised by how much of the plan Pierce _understood_ …

 

“So, we’re at an impasse” Tony commented, lamely, still trying to work out how much Pierce knew, and _how-_

“Well, not really.” Pierce snorted “…We have ways of _making_ you comply.”

“You think you can _torture_ me into giving you your data back?” Tony challenged, quirking an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t respond well to torture – ask The Ten Rings.”

 

“Oh, but why should I ask anyone else about it, when I’m _already_ the expert in torturing you?” Pierce asked, in a different voice entirely. A sinister, slightly sing-song voice that sent a jarring shiver up Tony’s back.

 

And then Pierce took a little step closer, fixing Tony with a predatory stare before he went on.

 

“I took over as Hydra Supreme in the early nineties, when I was just fifty-two years old – youngest controller in Hydra history” He went on, softly, his lips curling into a baleful smile “And do you know, one of the projects that really helped me make my mark, one of the very first things I did to cement my place here, was to order the assassination of your parents.”

 

Tony felt the spike of adrenaline before he heard the words. There was a sudden, vivid image of his mother, back when he was a very little boy, when her hair was still dark… the gentle echo of her voice, and the smell of Max Factor face power…

 

The visceral realisation-

 

_You killed my mom-_

He felt his hands balling into fists, his chest swelling painfully-

 

And then Steve’s voice again, _please Tony, don’t leave me._

 

“So, all those nights you spent drinking your sorrows away in Hyde Park, with the vagrants and the drug addicts? That was me.” Pierce needled, when Tony didn’t rise to the bait. Tony dug his nails into his palms until it stung, his ribs tightening around his lungs, picturing all the things he would have liked to do to Pierce right now.

 

But he wouldn’t.

 

He was going to ignore this.

 

He was going to do home to Steve.  

 

“Those fist fights you used to get into, in parking lots and junkyards? That was me.” Pierce pressed on. “The night you spent in a Czech jail cell? Me.”

 

He took another step closer, his thumb still poised over the little remote in his hand.

 

“I’ve been _torturing_ you your whole life, Tony Stark, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve been suffering for twenty years, off the back of _one_ choice I made.” He flashed his teeth, ominously. “So, yeah, I think I might be able to get it out of you – better than that bunch of amateurs in Afghanistan. But not before I’ve tortured Steve Rogers. And Colonel Rhodes. And Pepper Potts. Not before your obstinacy has cost you _so_ much, that you can’t even question whether it was worth it. Unless.”

 

He glanced at the computer behind Tony.

 

“You’d like to undo all of this, before we get that far?”

 

For a moment, Tony was so overwhelmed by hatred that he couldn’t think straight. It was a physical thing, a tangible pain just under his skin – it had a _taste_.

 

It was almost liberating.

 

Ever since Steve had told him what really happened to his parents, Tony had been at the mercy of an aimless, faceless rage. A deep sense of injustice, with no one to take it out on – a futile desire to take revenge against an idea. All this time, Tony had been trying to make peace with the idea that _Hydra_ had killed his parents. That all of his trauma had been caused by a shapeless organisation, that there simply wasn’t anyone he could’ve killed for this.

 

Well, here he was.

 

And there wasn’t a single thing Tony could do about it – because he couldn’t risk the thing Steve cared most about.

 

He swallowed the taste of blood, trying to reboot his brain-

 

 And then there was that soft whooshing sound again, as the doors slid open.

 

*

 

Apparently – _mercifully_ – Pierce hadn’t had time to delete Nick’s security clearances yet.

 

The elevator control panel accepted his original retina scan, cheerfully complied when he granted clearance to Clint and Maria. Nick took a second to catch his breath as the cart began to move downwards. He knew most of the agents chasing them wouldn’t have the necessary credentials to follow down here – but it wouldn’t take long for the strike team to come after them.

 

And the people who were _already_ down there were probably more of a problem anyway-

 

But hey, at least Nick felt alright about shooting those people.

 

“Heads down, just get across the room and down to the lower bunker” He croaked, “Don’t engage unless you have to.”

“Get Tony out and go.” Clint clarified. Nick just nodded.

 

Unfortunately, as soon as the elevator doors opened, it became clear it wouldn’t be as simple as that.

 

The room was a hive of activity, full of far more people moving far more energetically than Nick had ever seen it. Engineers and developers were marching in lines towards the empty space in the middle of the bunker, directly below the Helicarrier. Agents in suits, and combat gear, and lab coats all weaved through the crowd, all moving in the same direction. On the plus side, this flurry of activity seemed to have everyone’s attention – it gave the three of them a chance to slip out of the elevator unseen.

 

That was probably where the upsides ended, though.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Clint whispered, when he, Nick and Maria had managed to conceal themselves behind storage crate.

“Sam, do we have anything?” Nick spoke very softly, trying to peek around the corner of the container without being spotted. As far as he could tell, everyone was just gathering there in the middle of the room…

 

Back in the apartment, Sam was frantically scanning a bank of screens, trying to process a hundred inputs at once. At least twenty difference surveillance cameras, some of which were focused on the escalating brawl on the second floor, some of which had captured the strike team snaking up through the main building, some of which were focussed on the strange scene unfolding in front of the Helicarriers – one of which was still pointed at Pierce and Tony, standing off against each other, on the floor below. Sam blinked it all away, and made himself look at Nat’s laptop.

 

“…There’s been an alert, on the Hydra subsystem…” Sam worked it out as he said it. “This stuff is still in fragments – but there are hundreds of agents that have just been sent down there, same hidden radio channel…” His frown deepened as he scanned the information in front of him “…I can’t work out where it’s coming from though, or _why…_ ”

 

The whole time Sam was talking, Nick was trying to get his bearings. Trying to picture how they’d all make it across this bunker, without causing a firefight… trying to think how long Tony had been stalling, by now…

 

“ _Shit_ ” Sam hissed, and Clint, Maria and Nick all snapped upright in unison. “There’s been an order sent out – they’re going to blow the building.”

“With them all inside?” Maria gasped.

“You guys are in the bomb shelter” Sam explained, frantically. “They’re all rushing down there so that they _don’t_ get blown up, along with everyone upstairs.”

“How long?” Nick whispered, still trying to think of a way out from behind this crate.

“…However long it takes everyone to get there” Sam guessed, “Or until they get tired of waiting.”

 

 _Great_.

 

So, that was Tony being held at gun point, and a thousand innocent SHIELD agents about to be blown to pieces. This was going well.

 

“You have to evacuate the building.” Nick suggested, somewhat redundantly.

“I’m trying – but I still don’t have access to everything-”

 

The noise in the bunker was beginning to swell. Nick had a horrible _feeling_ that there just couldn’t be that many more of them…

 

“Okay, how did he – wow-” Sam muttered, over the intercom.

“ _What_?” Nick hissed.

 

“…Steve’s already on the lower floor.”

 

*

 

Steve had covered nearly the entire length of the room before Pierce even looked up at him. And then his eyes caught on a sudden movement, as Pierce raised his hand. He saw the remote pressed into Pierce's palm, and thought of the pin on Tony’s lapel.

 

He stopped.

 

“Uh-uh-uh” Pierce told him anyway, holding the remote out in front of him, taunting Steve with it.

 

Steve saw the whole scene in an intense high definition. Pierce, maybe six feet away from him, his face creased with smug malice. Tony, two feet further back, his back held straight and proud, his eyes wide and imploring.

 

Pierce was standing between him and Tony.

 

 _His_ Tony…

 

“I know you know what this is” Pierce carried on – oblivious to the power building in this room, the sheer force he was about to come up against. “So, you so much as reach for a weapon, you take a single step, and he’ll be dead already…”

 

Steve looked at Pierce then, and he wasn’t even angry. He didn’t even hate him. There wasn’t room for any of that – there was _only_ stopping him. In all Steve’s life, he had never had a moment of such clarity; he had never been as purely focused on anything as he was this.

 

And, when he didn’t have to worry about ethics, or limits, or relative strengths…

When he didn’t have to think about anything that had led to this, or anything that might happen because of it…

When there were no degrees, no nuance, no details to get bogged down with…

 

When you stripped it back to the simple statement – _I can kill him before you take a single step._

No. He couldn’t.

 

And Steve didn’t have to reach for a weapon.

 

Steve _was_ a weapon.

 

Steve watched Pierce for a fraction of a second longer, just waiting for him to drop his eyes, relax his hand – he knew he wouldn’t need any more advantage than that.

 

And then he was moving.

 

He closed the gap between them in a single, liquid stride, his fist already raised behind him – gathering the momentum into the force of this blow.

 

There was no room for ambiguity here, no shades of grey – Steve _absolutely_ intended to kill Pierce, with this. He threw his whole body behind that punch, he put every ounce of strength he had into it, just to ensure there was no possible chance that Pierce would survive it. There wasn’t the slightest hint of hesitation, the vaguest echo of doubt-

 

_You threatened Tony Stark._

_You die for that._

Pierce didn’t even have chance to glance up again, before Steve’s fist came crashing into his face. The exact same punch Steve had aimed at Thanos, thrown at an unenhanced elderly man. Pierce's skull simply shattered on impact, his features caving in as his neck snapped backwards. His body was thrown twenty feet, landing in the middle of the room with a heavy, wet thud.

 

There was a moment of total stillness, while both Steve and Tony looked back at the corpse. Even from that distance, they could both make out the monstrous mess of cartilage where his face had once been. Steve looked down at his fist, and saw that it was smeared with blood, and pus, and a thick, milky slime…

 

And he didn’t care.

 

More than that; he was _glad_. This man threatened Tony – _his_ Tony – and for that he had been brutally murdered-

 

Steve simply couldn’t see the problem with that, right this moment.

 

And then he heard a flutter of movement, and looked up to see Tony stripping his jacket over his shoulders. And then Tony looked up at him.

 

“Are you okay baby?” Steve whispered, taking a step closer to him. And Tony parted those beautiful lips just slightly, those impossible eyes blown wide and glassy with feeling-

 

And then Sam’s voice came over the intercom, shattering the scene.

 

_“Okay, everyone, we have another problem.”_

 

 

Nat and Bucky had just run through the main entrance of the building when the reinforced shutters clanked shut behind them.

 

Nat glanced up to watch every window and sky light being blotted out in the same grinding mechanical way, already picturing how it would look from the outside. The whole building being closed into a thick steel shell – _emergency protocol two._

 

 _“Okay, everyone, we have another problem”_ Sam narrated, and Nat let go of a frustrated breath.

 

Well, clearly.

 

 _“The whole building has just been put on total lockdown – everyone is literally sealed in”_ Sam carried on, for the benefit of people trapped in a bunker.

“ _You’re sure this isn’t Sharon?”_ Nick’s voiced hissed

 _“No, this is completely different from what’s happening on the second floor – I still_ _don’t have access to wherever this is coming from, I can’t override it.”_

Nat looked at Bucky, who was scanning the scene in front of him.

“If we don’t find a way to get these people out before they blow the building…” She said, even though they both knew.

 

And then she felt a shadow fall over them, as a small group of people began to form in front of them… to the side of them…

 

She looked up and saw that the strike team, closing in around them.

 

Rumlow stepped forward, and looked right at her.

 

“Seems we have a double agent in our midst.” He announced, nastily. Natasha felt her spine straighten… but she bit her lip. “…Working from within to bring down SHEILD – was that the plan all along? This a KBG thing, is it?”

 

She heard the soft whir of Bucky’s making a fist with his metallic arm, and tiled her head to shoot him a warning glare – _don’t move._

 

“You know how this is gonna play?” Rumlow continued, as the agents either side of them closed in another step. “Tony Stark – infamous war profiteer, vigilante nutcase, enemy of the US senate – attempts to steal government secrets, aided by the Russian’s very own Black Widow.” He bared his teeth at her, more a snarl than a smile “…And that’s what happens if you _win_.”

 

He raised his gun, and the strike team took their cue and did the same – like his backing dancers.

 

“Is Tony Stark really worth all that, Nat?”

 

Everything about Nat just _dropped_ then, her shoulders sagging and her eyes falling to the floor, her lungs collapsing as she let go of a heavy sigh. She carried on chewing her lip, thoughtfully, maybe bitterly, for a second. Rumlow took another step towards her. And then her eyes flitted up, catching Rumlow’s at just that angle and in just that _way_ that you hoped would happen, on a romantic evening beneath the stars.

 

“You know what….” She breathed-

 

_And kicked him square in the balls._

 

“He really _is_ ”

 

And with that she threw her arm out to the left, already knowing that the agents there were poised to attack. She’d been scanning everything at the corner of her eye, the whole time Rumlow was carrying on – she knew where the second guy’s gun would be, so she could snatch it, she knew that the third and fourth guy would trip over the first, so she could simply knock them over.

 

She knew that anyone to her right would have to go through Bucky, and she therefore didn’t have to worry about them.

 

In a few chaotic seconds, half the strike team were on the ground, and the rest were hovering on the back foot. Nat rushed to calculate… they could take them _all_ out now, easily enough, or they could just rush past them now, get away from the situation-

 

And there was a sudden, _searing_ flash of light.

 

It was _beyond_ white, so pure and blinding that it wiped everything else out of her head. Nat screwed her eyes shut immediately, but the pain was still there, a deep, searing burning, right to the back of her skull. Dark shadows swirled under her eyelids as her head swam.

 

And then, above all that, she heard a voice. A pained, creaking voice, speaking _Russian_ …

 

Her mind translated the words automatically, as she forced her eyes open an began to blink frantically.

 

_Longing, Rusted, Furnace…_

 

It was meaningless. It was a nonsense, another layer of chaos in amongst the noise and the adrenaline and the blindness…

 

_Daybreak, Seventeen, Benign…_

 

It was a horribly familiar melody, like a creepy nursery rhyme that scared the fuck out of you as a kid…

 

_Nine, Homecoming…_

 

Nat knew exactly what this was.

 

There was a burst of panic, as her legs overrode her head and tried to push her forward, even though she still couldn’t see where she was going.

 

_One, Freight car…_

 

Nat felt a sickening force hit her, right in the throat, bringing her to a sudden and jarring stop. She could barely make out the man who had hold of her, her vision was still so clouded by floating purple shapes.

 

And then, slowly, reality faded back into view.

 

She made out the agent in front of her, panting painfully, his eyes full of a wild fear even though he had her by the neck.

She made out Rumlow, just ahead of them, still bent at a tender angle, one hand gingerly over his lower gut-

 

Looking up at Bucky.

 

And it was finally seeing Bucky, rather than the guy strangling her, that made Nat actually stop for a second.

 

Watching the _way_ Bucky stopped, as Rumlow said to him, _Good Morning Soldier._

 

Nat was flooded with an uncharacteristically _human_ reaction, right then. Way beyond what this meant for the mission, entirely separate to just how fucking dangerous it would be to trigger the Winter Soldier right now. Ahead of all that was a personal fear and anger.

 

_Oh, please don’t do that to him._

_I will kill you for doing this to him_.

 

And then she saw Bucky’s shoulders straighten, as he delivered his reply-

 

With a cocky smile, in a full Brooklyn accent.

 

“Screw you, buddy.”

 

And then hit Rumlow with a punch that sent him thirty feet back in the air.

 

Nat kicked the agent in front of her instinctively – a blow to the gut, so he’d drop her, and then a punch the face, to knock him out. And then, as he crumpled to the floor, she looked up at Bucky, who was sending the last of the Strike Team scattering…

 

She was overwhelmed by such a rush of _pride_. A basic, heartfelt affection. Such a feeling of-

 

“We still have to evacuate this building somehow” He reminded her, bringing her back to the room.

 

She swallowed hard, and looked up at the skylight again.

 

And then there was a deafening blow behind them, as something hit the steel reinforcement around the building. The force of it shook the ground, and Nat had to throw her arms out to right herself. Just as she found her footing again, there was a second strike-

 

The whole entrance of the building exploded into hot metallic shards, a gaping hole appearing in the front wall, letting a tunnel of sunlight stream in.

 

There was a familiar silhouette at the centre of it.

 

Nat smiled as she recognised Rhodey, in full War Machine armour, standing proudly in the middle of the emergency exit he’d just created. After a few more blinks, her eyes adjusted, and she saw an armoured truck screeching to a painful stop just behind him – the shape of the words _US Airforce_ occurring to her before she could actually read them.

 

So, the authorities had been alerted, and they were already starting to surround the building.

Rhodey had created an exit, and could probably create more.

They had to evacuate this building, and they had to get Tony, and Nicks team, out of that bunker-

 

 _“Okay, Rhodey man, I can’t take control of their security system – but I got eyes on everything”_  Sam’s voice came over her earpiece, melting into her general thought process “ _If you let me be your eyes and ears, I can help you get this building cleared”_

 

Rhodey looked up at Nat for confirmation, and waited for her to nod, before he answered.

 

“Tell me where I need to be”

“ _Okay, there are a couple of floors where people are sealed in, so we need someone to blast through the internal doors before they can get out – and before you do that, you might wanna blast a few more holes in the back of the building, cos that’s where most of these people are going to come down to…_”

 

Nat waited patiently as Sam finished relaying his instructions, until she saw Rhodey fly off to his first port of call.

 

“Okay, Sam, how are things in the bunker?” She started at the top

“ _Er, well, Steve has Tony…_ ” Sam started, in a strange voice that sounded a little bit ominous – but Nat didn’t have time for that.

“Okay, do they need us to help them get out?”

“ _We’ve got them covered”_ Clint hissed, _“If all we gotta do is get them and us out of here alive, we’re set_ ”

 _“We’re in the main bunker” Steve confirmed. “South West corner, entrance to the stairwell_ ”

 

Nat took a second to catalogue that information, and then decided.

 

“Okay, you guys get yourself upstairs – Sam, Bucky and I are on site to help with the evacuation. Tell us where you need us to be.”

 

*

 

Steve still had Tony’s hand in a desperate grip, as he cast his eyes over the Operation Insight bunker.

 

He could just about make out the edge of the crowd, still looking over towards the Helicarriers – or, from the sounds of it, looking over to someone standing in front of them.

 

He could hear the placating tone of whoever was addressing the mob, discerning occasional words in the melody of it…. _Perfectly safe…reinforced concrete…withstand a blow far bigger than…_

He allowed himself to form a mental picture of it. Taking note of everything between them and their goal. They were on one side of the bunker, tucked into the stairwell that lead down to special projects. The elevator at the north corner was _way_ at the other side of the room, and that would mean running out into the open, right past the crowd in front of the Helicarriers. But it was still going to the easiest way out from here. And it was where his back up was.

 

“Okay, we’re just going to run for the north corner, right?” Steve whispered, “We’ll see if we can sneak past everyone, and if we can’t, we can’t.”

 

And he felt Tony’s hand squeeze his.

 

And then they _ran_.

 

They made it to the middle of the room before anyone looked up at them. Steve saw the first agent to see them, a reedy blonde woman in a lab coat grabbing at the sleeve of someone more imposing looking. He dropped into step with Tony, trying to stay right along side him as they carried on running – trying to shield him, as best he could. He knew, if he looked over to the right, he’d be able to see everyone now. The whole, gathered mass of Hydra DC, turning to look towards the back of the room like one evil multi-headed creature.

 

He heard a ripple of movement, shouts of _freeze, stop_ , radios being clicked into life and weapons being raised.

 

And then a low, dull _boom_ that shook the floor beneath his feet – a ripple of sound that seemed to pick up force as it moved away from them, like a tidal wave. Steve had to stop, plant his feet hard against the floor, to keep himself upright. Then he glanced over to see the agents nearest to him being knocked off their feet by it, crashing back into the people behind them, starting a domino effect of confused flailing.

 

He looked back at Tony. He had an open palm held at arm’s length, brandishing a watch instead of a gauntlet, but still, that same iconic stance. He watched Tony’s eyes, dark and dangerous, as they flitted over the scene he’d just caused – then they snapped back to Steve, and he _smiled_ -

 

And then there was a familiar zipping sound, and Steve and Tony both instinctively looked to where they knew an arrow would be lodged, somewhere in the middle of the crowd. It burst into smoke, sending agents scattering in all directions. People began to scream, and swear, the middle managers breaking ranks and trying to run for cover.

 

And then there was Nick, and Maria, right there at their side.

 

“ _Make heart eyes at him later!”_ Nick hissed, gesturing frantically even as they were running again.

 

The five of them crashed into the elevator more or less together, well ahead of the commotion they’d created. The doors slid shut, their view of the bunker smoothly replaced by a layer of chrome, the noise instantly sealed out.

 

Suddenly, it was just the five of them, standing silently in an elevator as it slowly moved upwards.

 

It was surreal.

 

“You know, they used to play music” Steve muttered, glancing at Tony. Tony smiled.

“Make heart eyes at him even later than this” Nick panted, waving between them dismissively.

“Yeah, unfortunately, we’ve still got to get everyone out of the building” Maria reminded them.

 

“ _Actually guys, I think we’re pretty much on that”_ Sam’s voice came over the intercom again. “ _Rhodey’s got everyone out of the secure zones, Sharon’s set off every evacuation system she still has access to-”_

“Is she still in the building?” Steve cut in, suddenly.

“ _No, she’s outside with the Air Force, remote access”_ Sam assured him “ _The FBI just turned up, too”_

“And Bucky, and Nat?” Steve asked.

_“Just came out with the last of the people from the second floor. Look guys, we’ve done a sweep, we’ve cleared all the exits, we’ve set off every alarm in the fucking building – and we still don’t know when it’s going to blow-”_

_“Guys, just get out of the building” Nat interjected “That’s an order”_

Steve smiled.

 

“Yes Ma’am.”

 

*

 

The building certainly _felt_ completely empty, as they made that final sprint from the elevator to the front entrance.

 

The chorus of alarms echoed above their heads, different volumes and pitches bouncing around endless empty space. The front lobby was littered with debris, bags that had been dropped and tables pushed over in the rush to escape. A few shoes, left abandoned on the stairs. They picked their way through it as quickly as they could, finally emerging into the sunlight.

 

It took a second for Steve’s eyes to adjust, but he didn’t stop moving. He just took hold of Tony’s hand again and led them down the front steps, along the drive, to where the crowds were being held at a safe distance. It was only when they’d crossed a line of police tape that Steve dared to think,

 

_It didn’t happen._

 

He looked at Tony then, and it was like walking out into the sunlight all over again.

 

“ _Just so you know, the data transfer just completed.”_ Sam spoke casually, like that was a minor point of interest.

 

 _“We’ve got everything? You’re sure?”_ Nat clarified.

 _“Tony’s system says yes”_ Sam confirmed. Because everyone knew, that was a yes.

 

Nat looked over at Steve and Tony from across the crowd, and smiled.

 

“ _Hit delete”_

 

There was a loaded silence. Steve felt Tony squeeze his hand again.

 

“Annnd… done.” Sam announced, proudly. “Hydra have been deleted.”

 

And, at that exact moment, there was an earth-shattering explosion.

 

Steve threw his arms around Tony, as everyone around them instinctively ducked. The sky flashed an angry orange, and then a suffocating black, as a ball of fire bloomed up along the building and swallowed itself up. The tower began to collapse in the middle, and then crashed down under its own weight. There was a rush of warm air, and a sudden taste of ash.

 

Steve kept Tony there, held flush against his chest for a few more seconds, until the clattering sounds had echoed into nothing and the people around him had started to murmur in shock. Then he released his grip, and he and Tony both turned to look at the smoking crater where SHIELD HQ had once stood.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my apologies for the delay in posting this update - I have the actual flu at the moment, and ho boi, do I apologise for every measly little cold I ever called the flu... I feel like I went ten rounds with Veronica. 
> 
> Also, apologies if this update descends into hallucinations anywhere in the middle. I had intended this to be a reasonably important transitional scene - but then i took A LOT of medication (like... a lot) and I'm mainly just hoping that it stays in line with the plan.
> 
> There's every chance that things will get a few minor edits once the walls stop melting. Please let me know if it goes astray in the middle...
> 
> And thank you for sticking with it!

Steve stood with Tony and just stared at the wreckage for a few minutes after the explosion died down.

 

He knew, as soon as he looked away, everything would start again – and he wasn’t ready for that, yet. He still felt like he was at the end of something. Having gotten through the ordeal of Tony being held at gunpoint, Steve felt like he should at least get a few minutes to enjoy it being _over_. He would’ve really liked a little time to process that particular trauma, and even a few minutes after that, to think about the fact that Hydra was _over_ , and Pierce was _over_ , and the whole first phase of The Avengers was _over_. To just stand here, and put his arms around Tony, and let it all sink in…

 

But, as usual, Steve couldn’t spend any time on what had just happened. He had to start thinking about what was going to happen next.  The crowds of agents doing head counts in the carpark, the mass of emergency service personnel descending on the building, the frantic politicians and security forces calling from all over the world – there _were_ only seven people that could answer them. It was only The Avengers who had any idea what was really going on, the only people who’d had any chance to prepare for this. And they’d made that choice. They’d taken it upon themselves – _he’d_ suggested they take it upon themselves – to manage what came after. So, Steve could hardly call ‘personal time’ and leave the world to it now.

But, oh, he wanted to…

 

This was a familiar feeling. Steve suddenly remembered chasing Zola through a runaway train, because there simply wasn’t time to cry over Bucky.

 

The same feeling as when Nick came to him, with a picture of the Tesseract and a story about Norse Gods, while Steve _had_ been in the middle of mourning his entire life.

 

And then there was the week Steve found out that he’d been working for Hydra, which was also the week he found out that Bucky had been tortured for years, the same week he found out that Nick had died, _and_ the week he found out that Nick hadn’t died, the same week he found out that Tony’s parents had been murdered…. Steve would’ve really liked to just sit in a darkened room and scream, at any point during _that_ week. But no, there were three Helicarriers poised to kill billions of people, and Bucky to rescue, and-

_And there’s a whole world to rebuild right now, so you’re going to have to snap out of it._

 

Steve gave his head a little shake, and finally looked away from the smoking wreckage. He glanced at Tony, thinking he was starting things up again, planning to talk about the next steps-

 

And then Tony looked up at him.

 

 _Oh, God, if anything had happened to him_ -

 

But it wasn’t a hypothetical, for Steve. It wasn’t simply a euphemism for relief, like it was when other people said it. It wasn’t a simple relief that Steve was feeling.

 

Because Steve knew what it felt like to lose him. He’d watched Tony die, he’d held Tony’s lifeless body against his chest, he’d suffocated in that agonising, unending grief for weeks, until it had driven him mad-

 

He _remembered-_

 

And he _couldn’t_ remember. Not now.

 

“So, uh, we – wait, first, are you okay?” Steve managed to speak over the growing anxiety, forcibly stamping over it with thoughts of the present.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Tony breathed, his eyes still glowing and his skin still slightly flushed. There _had_ been the slightest hint of a smile, like Tony had started off as excited, or proud, or any of the happy reactions that Steve was hoping for. And then, as Tony _really_ looked at Steve… it faded. The light in his eyes flickered into something like worry.

 

For the first time since it happened, Steve thought about the fact that he’d just punched an elderly man to death. He remembered the fine layer of sticky grime that still coated his right hand.

 

His first and only reaction to this revelation was a sudden terror that Tony would hate him for it.

 

It didn’t really occur to Steve that he might have done a terrible thing, even now. But how it might have looked to Tony – what Tony might be reliving, or thinking, or frightened of-

 

“What if I wasn’t, though?” Tony asked, his voice soft, and kind. He stepped closer to Steve “What if I was just really shaken, or exhausted, or – what if I just need to go somewhere else right now?”

“We can go anywhere you want. For as long as you need” Steve promised, immediately. He was still terrified that he was the thing Tony was scared of – but much more concerned by the idea of Tony being scared at all. If Tony needed time, if Tony needed space, then Steve had to focus on that. _Then_ maybe he could spiral into fears that he’d just blown everything,

 

That Tony must think he was a _monster-_

“If – I’m… Right, let’s get out of here” Steve talked over his internal monologue. He _sounded_ like he was trying to talk over someone – distracted and edgy. “And then, if you want some time – I mean, if you want me to stay with you-”

“Of course, I want you to stay with me” Tony managed to both frown and smile, like that had been a silly thing to say. That made Steve feel a little better.

 

He went to take Tony’s hand, and realised at the last second, and flinched it away.

 

_Jesus, not that hand-_

 

But Tony just smiled, and took a little step closer, and took Steve’s other hand with a confident sort of kindness. And then _Tony_ chose a direction, and took the lead, and began to guide them both through the thickening crowd.

 

At last, it dawned on Steve that Tony was taking _him_ out of this situation, not the other way around. That _Tony_ wasn’t overwhelmed, or exhausted, or frightened…

 

There was a wave of relief, as he recognised that Tony wasn’t mad at him. That Tony actually seemed to be okay, at least in the moment.

 

And then a surge of… what was that, guilt? Shame? Something with more of an edge than that… panic? Anxiety? Whatever it was, Steve’s step hesitated. Tony slowed to a stop, and turned to look at him with an expression that could only be, _are you okay, baby?_

 

_Oh God, I’m failing._

_I’m supposed to be somewhere else._

_I’m supposed to be-_

 

“I’m okay” Steve answered Tony’s silent question. “I just – just so you know, we can do whatever you- I mean, whatever _you_ want right now, whatever you’re worried about right now, you don’t have to think about what I need…”

 

Steve’s heart had started to race again. This explanation was coming out all wrong. And, suddenly, the process of straightening it out seemed insurmountable. He found his head was full of words – things he was thinking of saying, reasons he couldn’t say those things, rationalisations for feelings that made no sense. He couldn’t find his overall point in the chaos, he couldn’t grasp the thing he was trying to get across.

 

“You’re worried there’s somewhere else we need to be?” Tony guessed. And Steve realised that he couldn’t just say yes. That all his recently learned lessons about being more open with Tony, and making sure he prioritised Tony, had just reached a clashing contradiction – and he didn’t know which one to go with.

 

_If Tony is doing this for me, then I have to tell him it isn’t necessary. I can’t hold the both of us up, while I have a freak out..._

_But if I say that, and Tony does_ _need to take some time…_

_How to I explain that we have time for him to have a panic, but not me?_

“Being with you is the only place I need to be” Steve managed.

“Right, well then, right now _I_ need to be somewhere else for a minute, so I guess that means you have time to come with me, right?”

 

Steve knew what Tony was doing.

 

He didn’t know whether he felt a vulnerable sort of gratitude… or an embarrassed sort of resentment…

 

But it didn’t change the answer.

 

“I’ll always have time to come with you.”

 

So, Tony nodded, and took Steve’s hand again, and carried on through the crowd. As they moved Steve saw Tony put his hand to his ear, radioing the team, trying to block out the growing background noise. Steve missed the first few sentences, muffled by the sound of his own heart in his ears.

 

_…going to get cleaned up and bandaged…_

_…if Sam gets any calls for me…_

_…any immediate catastrophes to deal with?_

 

The anxiety grew. Steve’s heart raced harder.

 

_I’m just letting him call in sick for me_

_I can’t just leave the others to-_

“Well, Rhodey is helping with immediate rescue and recovery – although, to be honest, the emergency services have that covered. That bit doesn’t take too much of our bespoke knowledge.” Nat answered, casually-

 

Something in her tone was immediately soothing. Or, maybe, the lack of something in her tone. Steve hadn’t realised he was listening out for irritation, or judgement, or worry… until it wasn’t there…

 

“- And Bucky and I did offer to help, but there’s not much to help _with,_ yet.” She breezed, “I’ve got Sam on standby to filter the calls when we get them, but I’m guessing that most people are still reading the emails or wandering around this carpark right now...”

“Yeah, I got this covered” Sam clarified.

“So, really, there isn’t anything you guys need to do.” Nat added, like she was shrugging. “I’ll radio if anything changes, but as it stands, I think we just meet up in an hour for The Debriefening.”

“Okay, we have to stop letting Clint name these events” Tony observed, turning to smile at Steve.

 

 _See? It’s okay_.

 

And Steve smiled back.

 

…it was okay.

 

*

 

They’d driven back to their apartment, in the end.

 

Tony had spent the entire journey rationalising this decision – their apartment was the nearest, it was only a few minutes’ drive away, there wasn’t anywhere else they needed to be anyway – all for Steve’s benefit, and Steve knew it. Trying to make him feel better about abandoning his post.

 

And, by the time he opened their front door… It might actually have worked.

 

At least, over the course of that short drive, Steve had dropped any lingering resentment or resistance to this intervention. Somewhere along the highway Steve had recognised just how sweet Tony was being, how hard he was trying… how much of Steve he had seen, and how quickly. And maybe Steve _had_ been embarrassed by that, back at the site, or felt responsible for correcting it… but the further they drove from the noise and the smoke, the less anxious he was. And the more he relaxed, the simpler things seemed to get… clearer…

 

By the time Steve walked into that living room, he at least knew he was overwhelmingly relieved to be there. Not really because he’d listened to any of Tony’s reasoning, or because he’d considered his own flawed logic and corrected it, or because he’d been reassured by Nat’s orders. As it turned out, his anxiety hadn’t really been about any of that, anyway. It had just been a _feeling_ that he wasn’t allowed this, because he’d never been allowed this…

 

And now, it seemed, he was.

 

He was allowed to be here, and he was allowed to want to be here, and he _did_ want to be here.

 

That was a start, right?

 

He felt Tony put a hand on his shoulder, and it felt cool against his skin… he was warm, he realised, and _still_ slightly breathless. And then he saw Tony’s eyes flit down to his chest, briefly, and dropped his eyes to look…

 

Steve saw, for the first time, that his right arm was covered in a very fine pink spray, that his t-shirt was stained in various places with what was probably his own blood… although he didn’t actually remember being hit by anything…

 

“C’mon” Tony whispered, taking his hand again, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

 

So, Steve just let Tony lead him through to one of the bathrooms. He let Tony turn the shower on, and he let Tony peel his T-shirt away from his skin, and he just stood there while Tony ran a sympathetic eye over the many nicks and grazes he hadn’t known he had.

 

But, somehow, none of this felt like a surrender. Steve was sure it would have, even just an hour ago. A nice surrender, maybe, like he’d experienced with Tony a few times now – but a surrender none the less. And yet this just felt… right? Natural? It felt no more of a surrender to let Tony do this for him than it would have to ‘let’ a mechanic look at his car…

 

Maybe Steve was still just numb.

 

Whatever it was, he ran with it. He let Tony finish undressing him, he stood still while Tony pressed a washcloth to the worst of his cuts – a little nick at his elbow that was still bleeding gently, where he had apparently been grazed by a bullet. Steve let Tony deal with it, holding his arm up so that Tony could place a band-aid over it so very tenderly. And then Tony lifted Steve’s arm, and dropped his head, and pressed his lips to the dressing in a gentle kiss. It was about the _softest_ gesture Steve had ever felt, and it made him feel suddenly tearful.

 

And then Tony looked up at him, making sure to keep Steve’s eye as he said,

“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes.” And he paused, watching Steve’s face… Steve knew, if he hadn’t wanted to be alone, Tony would have seen it. Tony would have stayed. But – somewhat to his own surprise – Steve realised that, actually, he would like a few minutes. Not a few minutes away from Tony, exactly… just, a few minutes. So, he nodded, and told Tony he loved him, and waited until Tony left before he got into the shower.

 

Steve didn’t know _why_ he started crying. Actually, he didn’t think to question it, initially. It was just that, as the warm water washed the blood and grime away, as his muscles finally let go of that residual tension, the tears started sliding down his face… and it seemed perfectly in keeping with things, for a while. It didn’t really feel of anything – nothing did, at first.

 

And then, when it did… it actually felt _good_. As needed and pleasant a release as Steve had ever felt, as natural and as comfortable as anything he’d ever done. And then the thoughts came back to him, just as naturally. Slotting into his emotions and his physical feelings and becoming part of the same catharsis.

 

_If anything ever happens to him, it will be the end of me_

_Thank you, God, for keeping him safe_

_Please keep him safe, God, I swear, I’ll do anything_

_Oh, what if I hadn’t made it in time?_

_But I did make it in time, I did keep him safe_

_I will always keep him safe_

_Please let me always keep him safe_

And then Steve felt the tears get the better of him. He felt his chest start to burn with the effort of it, his breathing catching in noisy, undignified gulps. His legs began to ache, and then tremble, and then Steve had no choice but to sink into a sitting position, curled into himself under the spray.

 

It was good.

 

Suddenly, Steve felt _everything._ He felt the fear of losing Tony, the fury at Peirce and Rumlow for daring to threaten him, the relief of having stopped it. He felt the joy of having killed Hydra, and the redemption of having pulled it off, and the uneasy paranoia of what _might_ have happened. He waited to feel horrified at himself for how Peirce had died… and didn’t. Steve was _glad_ that Peirce had died that way, still – and every time he went back to how angry he was, he was ever more glad that he’d done it. That was still a comfort, and carried a feeling of retribution, at least for now. Steve cried happy tears, and angry tears, and relieved tears, all at once. He cried ugly, snotty, trembling tears, all on his own in the shower, for at least ten minutes-

 

And it was just so… good.

 

It wasn’t until Steve got through to the end of it that he realised – he’d only ever wanted _this_. Just a few minutes to feel it, and let go of it… And when he did, he felt so much lighter, so much _cleaner_ than he had.

 

And then _all_ he wanted was Tony.

 

When Steve stood up again he felt stronger than he had since…well, he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t really trying to, truth be told. He just liked feeling like this _now_ – he liked feeling better, he liked not being scared or tense or anxious. He liked being in love…

 

And he was so in love.

 

It _could_ swamp him now, after all the other thoughts had been cried out of him – how unique and wonderful his boyfriend was, how lucky and happy Steve was to have him right now, how sweet and kind Tony had been.

 

Steve was suddenly just so happy to be alive that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself – _how_ to get his limbs to work quickly enough, to get him to Tony _now_.

 

But, somehow, he managed to get out of the shower without slipping, managed to wrap himself in the robe that Tony had left for him and get himself out of the door.

 

Tony was sitting on the couch, waiting for him – of course he was. And, of course, he stood up the second he heard Steve throw the bathroom door open, already walking over to him, waiting to put his arms around him-

 

Steve pulled him close, and breathed him in, and he felt Tony do the same. Oh, Tony was alive, he was safe, and he was _perfect_ – and Tony was _his_. Tony Stark was kissing his neck, and curling his fingers into the fabric of his robe, and whispering, _it’s okay, I love you_.

 

Tony had done something for him today that Steve hadn’t realised he so desperately needed. Something distinct and separate from the way Tony had supported and loved him for the past two years. It was one thing, for Tony to take Steve aside and make a moment for him – as he had done, about a few of Steve’s issues, before now. But taking Steve _out_ of a moment… making it okay for Steve to feel first, and be later – making it okay for Steve to be the same as anyone else, as important and as human as anyone else.

 

This was everything.

 

“Oh, Tony, I love you so much, I’m so happy you’re here” He whispered into Tony’s hair, his hands running possessively up his back.

“I’m here because of you” Tony whispered back, leaning away so that he could look at Steve. “I’m here because you saved my life.”

 

And Steve thought again of _how_ he’d saved Tony’s life.

 

…He still didn’t feel bad. He didn’t even feel bad for not feeling bad.

 

But, somewhere in his head, there was the worry that it would make _Tony_ feel bad. And his absolute priority was always, _always_ , making sure Tony didn’t feel bad.

 

“Yeah – um, about that…” Steve answered – with an entirely inappropriate smile, he knew “I…When I…” He took control of himself, forced a serious expression onto his face, _made_ himself talk more soberly. “I know that I just killed a man with my bare hands. And, to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t regret it. I don’t know if I will, when, if… But, what I mean is, I do _know_ that was… pretty basic, even if I don’t feel it, yet. And if… I mean, if you’re worried about that, or if it was… I just mean, you can tell me. Whatever you’re thinking, you can tell me”

 

Tony looked at him – the _same_ inappropriate smile, Steve was sure, swallowed up in the same way. A slow breath, and a deliberately professional expression when he answered.

“I was thinking… I was wondering if you’d be upset, about that. I didn’t want to say… anything, because I thought, you know, if you _did_ regret it for whatever reason, or if it made you feel bad for _any_ reason, then I didn’t want to…” And the little smile broke free again, and Tony dropped his eyes in the most adorably shy way. “But, I mean, if you want to know what I really thought about it…?”

“Of course I do.”

“And, okay, this doesn’t mean – I don’t mean-”

“Tony.” Steve cut him off, putting a hand to the side of his face and making Tony look at him “I promise, you can _always_ tell me what you think. Always.”

 

“…I think that was the most amazing, most heroic, most – _exciting_ thing I have ever seen in my life” Tony admitted, in a single rush of air. “And, I’m really sorry if that turns out to be the most insensitive thing I ever said, but-” And, for the few seconds he was searching for the words, he just looked up at Steve, his eyes wide and alive and _so_ beautiful. “…There was this guy, like a fairy tale monster, telling me he’d killed my parents and he was going to kill me – and then you just strolled in, like, I don’t know, I just – I have never felt as protected, or loved, or as, I don’t l know, _awed_ , as that. I don’t know how to – it was just…” He trailed off, with a helpless sort of shrug, still looking at Steve with that same honest admiration.

 

Steve felt _something_ swell in his chest. Maybe it was just relief, that Tony didn’t hate him. Maybe he _liked_ that Tony was awed by him, that he so clearly thought of Steve as a hero right now. Maybe it was just because Tony looked so beautiful, that he _was_ so beautiful, and Steve still _could_ -

 

Steve kissed him, deep and desperate and possessive, and Tony melted into him immediately.

 

A little voice, somewhere _way_ back in Steve’s head, observed that this probably wasn’t what most people meant when talked about ‘dealing with trauma’. He was probably supposed to be talking this out, unpacking his issues, or whatever…

 

Except Steve knew he needed _this_ , right now.

 

Whatever they made time for later, whatever there was left to deal with, right now Steve just wanted a few moments to _have_ Tony. To enjoy the fact that that it was over, to indulge in all the things that he still had rather than spiral into ideas what he could have lost.

 

There was another reality out there somewhere, another Steve, a version of him that would’ve been _shocked_ at the idea of leaving a crisis so that he could fuck his boyfriend-

 

Steve had never been so glad to be where he was.

 

 

Nat decided to hold ‘The Debriefening’ at Rhodey’s apartment.

 

Tony was still curled up on Steve’s chest when she called, his breathing heavy and his voice still just a little slurred when he told her they were on their way. Steve saw him blush, with a little smile that was somewhere between smug and shy, as he hung up. It occurred to Steve that Nat would guess what they’d been up to; if she hadn’t suspected anyway, she would have known as soon as she heard Tony’s voice.

 

Steve smiled.

 

The whole cover story about him being a sex addicted party boy had started as a personal joke. A completely pointless act of rebellion, done without thinking, just to make himself smile. And then it had developed into a group joke; although, one he could always find his own personal punchline in. He’d liked it, as a joke. He’d liked being able to rebel against everything he was _supposed_ to be, even in that small way. He’d liked how different his new caricature was from the old one, the fact that it wasn’t designed to please people – the fact that it wasn’t designed entirely by other people, before he even got there.

 

And now it was slowly dawning on him that he wasn’t actually a caricature at all, anymore.

 

Nat wasn’t making that assumption because of his _new_ persona – she knew that was a lie. She’d helped tell it. She wasn’t somewhere rolling her eyes, and thinking this was just so typical of ‘Captain America’, now that it meant something different. Steve felt no obligation to live up to or disprove that notion either, because it didn’t have anything to do with anything.

 

Nat had made that assumption because she knew him, and she knew Tony, and she knew how to read a situation –

 

And because it hadn’t occurred to her that ‘Captain America’ didn’t do that sort of thing.

 

She wasn’t somewhere giggling, or whispering, _oh my God, you won’t believe it -_ or even wanting to. And people _would_ have believed it. And they wouldn’t have cared.

 

Steve had never tried to live up to a _label_ , in this timeline. He may have struggled with his own expectations, figuring out what he wanted and what was right, but he’d never once felt the need to stay ‘on brand’. And maybe that _was_ because he’d shot down any grand expectations right at the start. Maybe it was because people were _relieved_ to find that the stories weren’t true, this time.

 

Maybe, his impulse decision to sass Nick Fury in Monaco had been one of the greatest decisions of his life.  

 

“C’mon” Tony sighed, nuzzling his head against Steve’s chest like an impatient cat. “We have to go be _debreifen-ed_.”

“They’re all going to be ‘Debriefenings’ now, aren’t they?” Steve grinned.

“For the rest of time” Tony nodded, gleefully, scanning the room for the T-shirt Steve had thrown aside. And then he giggled. “ _Oh, no, no need to worry Mr President – we’ve got the best people lined up to be the new Directors of SHIELD. No, I know they all talk like toddlers, but…”_

 

Steve snorted a laugh at that, as he stood up to go and find some clothes of his own. But, after he heard the joke, Steve heard something else in it, like an echo. _The new Directors of SHIELD…_

 

And out of nowhere, he suddenly remembered something Tony had said over a year ago.

 

_I’ve been thinking… It’s all well and good for me to decide that I have to save everyone, that I’m going to mourn every person I couldn’t save or every little thing I could’ve done better – I think, maybe, feeling bad about all that makes me feel like a better person, sometimes… but what if I really was a director of SHIELD, and it was my job to decide whether someone should be punished, for trying their best to save everyone and almost managing it…_

Steve could actually _hear_ Tony saying it… That awful night in September, when everything had felt like it was falling apart…

 

Steve had thought back, so many times, to a few nights _after_ that – the night that had started off so awful, and ended with Tony saving his life. He’d counted his blessings every day since then, and he’d thought about it ending differently, and he’d thought about all the things Tony had helped him to see in that one intense conversation…

 

But this might have been the first time he’d thought back further, to _that_ particular memory… this might’ve been the first time he really heard it.

 

And he _got_ it.

 

Right then, in a flash of inspiration, Steve saw what Tony had been saying that night – and why it mattered so much now. How it fit into _everything_ , from his assumption that only Tony was allowed to be upset, to his relief that Nat knew he had a sex life. It was all the same thing, the same vitally important thing, that Tony had been trying to say all that time ago…

 

_I couldn’t explain why we had time for Tony to take a moment, but not me_

_…because it’s ridiculous._

_Because if you were trying to be fair, and logical, and consistent, you would never suggest this set of standards to anyone. It wouldn’t be a good way to act as a Director… because it isn’t a good way to act. _

 

…Because the real reason he thought they could make time for Tony, and not for him, actually made him sound like an asshole.

 

All this time, Steve had sort of _assumed_ that it made him a good person, to discount himself like that. That it was heroic or noble set higher standards for himself than he would have put onto anyone else. That feeling bad for perfectly human feelings or failings made him _better_ than other people. That he was being a _good_ boyfriend, putting Tony onto a pedestal like that…

 

But it wasn’t like that, was it?

 

It had never made him any better or worse than he was, having his own little guidelines for what he _should_ be. Feeling bad for being human didn’t make him better than anyone – actually, it just made him a hypocrite. And it wasn’t being a good boyfriend, to cut Tony out and refuse to let him help and to essentially say, _oh, no, I can’t have the feelings you’re having. Not me._

_I’m special. I’m different to you._

And he’d stood in that parking lot today, trying to find a way to explain without it sounding like that. So that it wouldn’t come across as _you don’t have to be as good as I am._

 

And now he saw that the reason it ‘sounded’ like that, was because that’s what he was actually saying.

 

And, okay, it wasn’t because he thought Tony was _less than_ , per se. But, wasn’t it essentially the same thing, to always think of yourself as _more than_ , as having to be more than?

 

He realised that, in these two years, when he’d acknowledged that he didn’t have to be _perfect_ and he’d acknowledged that he didn’t have to be a ‘brand’ and he’d learned to let Tony see him – still, this whole time, there had been the lingering belief that he had to be a little bit better.

 

He realised that all these months of being _able_ to open up to Tony weren’t quite the same as just being completely open, and real, with him. That there were apparently still situations and scenarios where he’d resort to these ideas, because he’d never really addressed this issue at the heart of it.

 

He realised he’d have hated it, if Tony had thought that way about him. He wouldn’t have been touched, or felt special or protected or loved. He’d have felt belittled, and cut out, and impotent. He’d have handled it far worse than Tony did, today.

 

He realised that he’d actually come to this conclusion all on his own, without Tony having to find an analogy and a philosophy and a holographic diagram for it. For once.

 

Steve smiled again as he pulled his clothes on, almost pulling his one band-aid off in his haste.

 

“Ready?” Tony asked affectionately, as Steve reappeared.

“Actually, just, before we go…” Steve smiled, stepping closer. And Tony paused, not irritated or impatient or even anxious – looking at Steve the same way Steve hoped he’d looked at Tony, _for you, I have as long as you need_.

 

“I just wanted to say I was sorry, actually.” Steve told him. Tony frowned, but before he could question it, Steve explained. “I didn’t want to let you help me today, not at first. I thought I shouldn’t need it, or, I don’t know, I thought… I thought I should be better than that. And I’ve just worked out that it isn’t some great heroic thing, to think that. It’s just…wrong. And sort of egotistical. And I mean it when I tell you that you can take a minute, and I _don’t_ think that would make you less than anyone, and I want to be the person that can do that for you… and I think I’ve just worked out that not letting you do that for me isn’t some great sacrifice on my part. Its just holding back, and sort of… pretentious. And, yeah, I’m sorry for that. And, thank you for not letting me get away with that bullshit, I guess.”

 

Tony took a little breath, his eyes shining, a smile tugging at his lips even though he’d been trying to listen very seriously. Steve loved him so much it made the air around him feel thinner.

 

“Just so you know” Tony whispered, over what was clearly a lot of emotion. “Obviously, not getting upset isn’t what makes you better than everyone else. Or needing help sometimes, or not taking care of yourself, or any of that. But. You absolutely _are_ better than everyone else. You just are.”

 

And as Steve stepped forward to kiss him, he recognised that he’d spent his whole life panicking about how good he had to be. Trying to live up to an image that _he’d_ invented, long before anyone came up with a brand for him.

 

And for all of that, he’d never felt as good about himself as he did right now.


	21. 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my apologies for the length of time between updates. But I am officially over the longest flu in history (irritating, lingering cough not withstanding) so normal service should hopefully resume!
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone that is following this - really hope you enjoy!

****

 

**January**

New York was covered in a thick dusting of snow, like icing sugar. The sidewalks and gutters were full of grey ice and rock salt, the clouds above them already heavy with the promise of more. It was the middle of the afternoon and still two degrees below zero, the air painfully sharp against Steve’s skin and almost hot in his lungs. In short, it was the sort of day that Steve would have hated, usually.

 

But he couldn’t remember ever being as happy as he was right now.

 

He glanced back, and found that he’d walked twenty feet ahead of the group – again. While everyone else was trudging wearily from the parking lot, shoulders hunched forward against the wind, Steve had been moving forward in hundred-yard bursts, and then having to wait impatiently for everyone to catch up, like an excited puppy.

 

Because only Steve knew what it meant that _they were moving into The Tower. _

_Today._

_Like, right now_

 

And he was so excited by that prospect that he really didn’t feel the cold. He wasn’t thinking about any of the political issues and practical problems they were still dealing with, two weeks after The Deletening. Even the exhaustion had waned, or at least, he was so elated in the moment that he’d forgotten about it.

 

He understood why no one else was especially thrilled, right this second. He knew that, in broad terms, everyone _was_ pleased that the new SHIELD was finally forming into a reality, that The Avengers had some official recognition and a proper base, that all the work was finally getting them somewhere. But he also knew that this was just a building, to them. Just another check box on what was a very long to do list – nice to have, but not enough to stop them thinking of everything there was left to do. How tired they were of everything they’d already done.

 

And it was fine.

 

Steve didn’t _need_ anyone to share in his excitement. He was so fixated on all the things this meant to _him_ , he didn’t have room left for anything else.

 

This building was the setting for all of Steve’s happiest memories – and all of his dearest fantasies. The whole time he’d been on the run after Siberia, or ghost walking through life after the snap, or wandering aimlessly through the past, he had wished for just _one_ thing. Through all of those regrets, the lament had always been the same: _If I could just go back to The Tower…_ Arriving here now had a magical quality. It felt like a fairy tale ending. Literally all of his dreams had come true.

 

And then there were the things he hadn’t even dared dream about. The fact that Tony Stark was already there waiting for them – for _him._ The fact that, this time, Tony had designed a room for _them_ , a room where he could wake up next to Tony Stark every single day, and tell him he loved him, and kiss that perfect, pretty mouth-

 

And, yeah, okay, he _had_ dreamed about something like that, once or twice, in the first timeline. He’d imagined kissing Tony, and maybe sometimes more… and he’d thought, in the abstract, of how much he’d love to be with him, how jealous he was of Pepper, and all that. But it had always seemed so unlikely that Steve had been embarrassed in front of himself to want it – he’d always fought those fantasies, and felt terrible about it when he gave in. And he’d never had any idea what it could really look like, he could never fill in any details or put it in any context. He’d never _imagined_ that Tony would be as wonderful a boyfriend as he was, that he could ever possibly be as happy as this-

 

“Yo, Rogers, slow _down_ ” Clint yelled breathlessly. When Steve looked back, he saw that they were a good fifty feet behind him, marching forward with more force now that the entrance was in sight. Steve smiled at himself, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet like a kid at the entrance of an amusement park. He was standing in the shadow of The Tower now. They’d be inside in a matter of minutes…

 

While he waited for the others to catch up to him, Steve took a moment to look up at his new home. Which was also his old home. The place he’d thought of as home for longer than anywhere else – when really, he’d not actually lived there that long… _yet,_ he added, gleefully.

 

And then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked down to see Tony walking over to meet him.

 

Steve broke out in a grin, and forgot that he was waiting for the others, and bounded over to throw his arms around his boyfriend. He heard Tony sigh a smile into his neck, and a muffled _welcome home_ that brought a lump to his throat. And then Tony lifted his head and kissed him, so warm against Steve’s icy lips-

 

“You keep on doing that in the office, I’m filing a sexual harassment suit.” Nick called, from just a few feet behind them now.

“Well, if this is work time, then I’ll stop kissing him” Tony retorted, his arms still looped around Steve’s waist. “And if it’s actually our first afternoon off in a month, then we can all have hot chocolate with rum in it. So, your choice-”

“In that case you can fuck him right there on the doorstep.” Bucky informed him sardonically, strolling past them. Tony burst out laughing, pressed against Steve’s chest.

 

And, okay, Steve knew he still had some issues to work out, and some traumas that might never go away completely. The team still had a lot of problems to fix and gaps to fill and people to convince.

 

But whatever else he had, as of right now, Steve had _everything_ he’d ever wanted.

 

**February**

 

Steve was standing on an echoey sound stage, looking at a carefully crafted set through a tiny two-way mirror. On the other side was the little recovery room, simply furnished and softly lit. And quiet, this time. No radio playing, this time…

 

Steve kept his eyes fixed on the scene, flitting between all the meaningless details as a way to take up the time. But he couldn’t quite make himself look at the figure sleeping peacefully on the little hospital bed. His eyes just kept skipping over him, the way you naturally avert your gaze from embarrassing situations in public…or the gruesome aftermath of an accident….

 

This was the most surreal moment of his life so far. He had no idea how to feel about it, but whatever it was, he felt _a lot_.

 

Even planning for this moment had been an unsettling experience. Steve remembered the strange shiver that ran up his back a few weeks ago, when Tony had gently raised the topic over dinner. Just wondering if Steve had given it any more thought, now that The Avengers were up and running…Just thinking, it might be easier to do it before everything was _too_ established, while there were fewer people paying attention… just an idea, no pressure or anything. And Steve knew that he was right. They had to find the other Steve and sent him back at some point, and now made more sense than any other time… But that was the first time that _bringing Steve out of the ice_ had been anything more than the words in his head. The first time he’d had to picture it.

 

The first time he’d _remembered_ it, in a very long time.

 

It made sense that he wouldn’t like to think about it, really… but Steve hadn’t realised until now that he never had. That, actually, the memories had been distorted through improper storage. The images he’d always flinched away from were nothing more than flashes – and none of them were possible, and they didn’t thread together anymore. He’d assumed that it would be so easy to put himself back there, that he’d be able to bring back every detail, that _he_ would know how to make this easier, far more than Nick or Peirce ever had. But…

 

Had he thought any of those things at the time, or had he added it all in after?

Had the room really been this small, or this…beige?

Had he really seen those ghoulish creatures chasing him out into Times Square, or was it just 21st Century Security gear, seen through unfamiliar eyes in a fit of panic?

Did he really wonder if he’d died? Did he actually ask himself whether this was heaven or hell – do people _really_ feel such existential things, or do they just add them in afterwards, hypothetically, to make sense of it all?

 _Was_ there anything that could soften this blow? Was there any concept of ‘easier’, any sort of scale, when it came to something this huge?

 

Steve looked at the man sleeping on that hospital bed and realised, he had no idea what he was about to go through.

 

To be fair, Steve still didn’t know what _he_ was going through, right now.

 

This felt so different to the other times he’d seen himself. Yeah, there had been a little tug of familiarity, embarrassment, more than a little bit of regret, when he’d been watching from the side lines of the Time Heist. But this felt different. This felt like looking _at it_. Like this version of him, more than any other he’d seen, was really _him_ , really _then_. Like Steve was really about to watch a timeline diverge, that he was finally looking directly at the hypothetical ideas that had terrified him-

 

And the regrets he’d been nursing since the first 2012.

 

He didn’t look at the figure on the bed and simply think of all the things he wished he’d done differently, like he might have, looking at a photograph. He literally saw _himself_ , before any of it had happened.

 

He could _see_ the potential for things to work out so differently – but, more than that, the potential for things to work out exactly as they had. Even though they couldn’t really, not now… there was still the strangest idea that the other Steve didn’t know that. That, before Other Steve opened his eyes and made his new reality, he was still the same well intentioned, terrified, infuriatingly stubborn twenty-seven-year-old Steve had been before… Right now, that man’s every memory was his own, his every personal quality a part of Steve’s personal history. That _was_ him. And yet, in a few minutes, this man would wake up in a quiet room; there wouldn’t be a sinister radio broadcast to turn his guts to slime. This man would wake up and speak to Sam, who would be kind and understanding and at least a little prepared for the situation. He would wake up and hear that it was okay, he could go home… And, in that moment, this person who was him would suddenly become someone else entirely. Someone with a different story, which would lead to a different set of priorities, a different personality, someone who would learn different things and make different choices in another world altogether.

 

 And Steve was about to _watch_ it.

 

He suddenly felt aware of an entirely new concept of time travel, different to anything he’d struggled with before, a real feeling of standing in his own past, witnessing its own passing – a moment that could only exist for a moment, right here, right now, even though it was a moment that happened before…

 

This was the exact same man that had gone on to fall in love with Tony Stark, and lose him, and find him again – and yet, it wasn’t. Or, rather, it wouldn’t be, the moment he opened his eyes…

 

Just being here exhausted Steve. It made him feel sort of… _naked_ , and he didn’t like it-

 

And then he felt Tony squeeze his hand.

 

Steve let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a pleasantly physical relief rolling through him. A reminder of the other side of this equation; proof that his personal perspective of the present had some value. That it was _real_.

 

Tony being here didn’t make any of this less frightening – but it did give him a way to cope with the fear. It was a constant reminder that something _was_ real, that, however far he went into his own traumas, there would be something to come back to.

 

“You need to get out of here?” Tony whispered, running his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. And Steve smiled, in spite of everything, and shook his head.

 

He and Tony had spent hours talking about this day. Steve had actually had a chance to unpack all of this, in his own time, with someone he trusted. And he’d come to the conclusion that he’d regret missing it. That, however uncomfortable it was to watch, it would be more uncomfortable to wonder about it for the rest of his life.

 

Which also meant that he was staying because _he’d_ decided to. He wasn’t leading this operation, Nat was. He’d already told Sam as much as he could remember, Sam would be doing the actual talking once other Steve woke up. And more than that… he didn’t _have_ to be here. He wouldn’t be letting anyone down, he wouldn’t be ruining an image, he wouldn’t be shapelessly anxious about it… He had Tony right there, reassuring him that he could take a minute if he needed one.

 

And, standing here, trying to control his breathing, it would be easy to think of everything he still had to deal with.

 

But, looking at this past version of himself, Steve thought it might be a better moment to think of how far he’d come.

 

**March**

 

It was one in the morning, and still the party showed no sign of winding down.

 

To be fair, it wasn’t like there were crowds of acquaintances to thin out or loud music to turn down. All evening, it had just been the ten of them, drinking on the couches and arguing over the next song they were going to play. But none of them were getting tired of that, yet.

 

“So, what birthday is it you’re celebrating?” Sharon asked, her voice only just softened by drink.

“You’d think that was a simple question, wouldn’t you?” Bucky announced, with good natured exaggeration. “But, honestly, I have no idea. Ninety-five, technically.”

“I think you should just go with that” Sam suggested, from where he was sprawled out on the floor.

“But you have to say it with a totally straight face, every time.” Clint added.

“Like it’s not even weird” Sam agreed, and Bucky laughed.

“So, we’re at your ninety fifth birthday party?” Sharon clarified, with a squint.

“I’m not telling people I spent the weekend at someone’s ninety fifth birthday” Nat frowned and Bucky laughed again.

 

And then he looked right at her, fixing her with a particular grin that Steve remembered from the forties.

 

“Okay boss, how old am I then?” He asked, his voice warm and almost teasing. And Nat smiled back at him – a smile Steve couldn’t remember ever seeing before… and then she narrowed her eyes at Bucky, and pursed her lips, as though she was seriously considering it…

“Thirty-two” She decided. Bucky just nodded, and then looked back at Sharon, and informed her completely seriously.

“I’m thirty-two, today.”

 

Steve could almost swear he saw Nat blush…

 

**April**

 

The Avengers first official mission was a tense affair – but not for the usual reasons.

 

The mission itself was pretty straightforward. A quasi-legitimate military group taking hostages, in a part of the world where no one had any _official_ interest. The sort of thing that used to get handed off to Iron Man, not because it was beyond the capabilities of conventional forces, but because no one wanted to get involved. No one had been remotely worried that they wouldn’t be able to find these people, or get the hostages out safely.

 

That had been the easy part.

 

The tense part was making sure they had the authority to act in the first place. Making very sure that they’d followed their own procedure, that all the right people recognised what they were doing – that there was nothing for anyone to complain about, after the fact.

 

This was a purely practical consideration, at this stage. This had nothing to do with anyone’s opinion on regulation or autonomy or how they should work in the future – this was a onetime goal they’d all agreed on, because this time it simply made sense.

 

The new SHIELD was still in its infancy. Agencies all over the world were still confused about their function, whether they could be trusted – if now would be a good time to step in and assert their own authority. There were varying degrees of scepticism about The Avengers. Nat was still fielding questions about who they answered to, and where their authority came from, what they actually _did_. There was still discomfort about the way Rhodey and Sharon had been implanted as directors, and even more discomfort about the fact that ten people still had total control of all SHIELDs data, and were dolling it out to teams and departments at their own discretion…

 

Everyone knew, the first mission was a test case.

 

 _If_ they could get the world to agree that this was a job for The Avengers – _before_ they decided it for themselves – then it would be a global acknowledgement of their role. It would finally move the conversation from _if The Avengers existed_ and _when The Avengers exist_ , on to what happens now that they do.

 

If they could do this by the book just _once_ , then maybe people would focus on the good they could do – just for a change. No one really believed that they could be this political, or bureaucratic, every time… but wouldn’t it be nice if, just for once, there was a public conversation about them that didn’t question whether they were fundamentally good or evil? If they could start out with an uncomplicated and unquestionably positive act, give people some other narrative, at least for a while?

 

And, who knew, maybe a different starting point could change everything. Maybe if the world didn’t start out thinking of them as fundamentally dangerous, or just outside of human society, perhaps everyone would have been more willing to work with them. More nuanced in their judgement of them. More flexible when they _did_ get to the complicated bits, more accepting of the things they couldn’t understand… Or, maybe it would only last until things got complicated. But it had to be worth a shot, right? The team might have different political views and ideologies and working styles, but at least they could all agree – it if was possible, it was definitely better to start out right.

 

When Nat hung up on that final call and announced that The Avengers officially had permission to act, everyone in the team cheered as though they’d already completed the mission.

 

Well, they had, really.

 

**May**

Steve thought how nice it would be, to think about their upcoming anniversary. To sit here at the end of a long day, on _their_ couch, in _their_ living room, and plan something nice for Tony. Or to just remember all the special moments that had made up those two years, or simply marvel at the fact that it had only been that long, and that it had really been as long as that…

 

It would’ve been lovely to think about any of that – but Steve just couldn’t make himself focus on it. He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting back to that _other_ anniversary, the one that was just a few days away…

 

_Except it isn’t really an anniversary, is it? It’s the date…_

 

He’d not thought about this on the 4th of May last year. He’d not thought of it every May 4th since it happened. But this would literally be May the 4th, 2012… _The day of the battle of New York._

 

Except, of course, it wouldn’t be.

 

SHIELD weren’t experimenting with the tesseract anymore, or anything else that far above their paygrade. Steve had to hope that would have some influence on the chain of events… but even if it didn’t. Even if Thanos’ plan was progressing just the same, out there in the depths of space, and even if Loki did arrive on the very same day – Steve knew that it wouldn’t get as far as a battle, this time. He’d told every member of the team _every_ detail he could remember about Loki, and Thanos, and the Chitahuri and the final battle and the plot it was all a part of. He’d helped them plan for every possible contingency, watched them learn from all their previous mistakes. Of all the potential threats there were out there, The Avengers were uniquely prepared for Loki. And they were especially ready for him, this week…

 

There was _no way_ the city ended up under a giant wormhole on Friday.

 

… Which was an odd thought, in and of itself.

 

Steve had come to accept that it might always bother him, to think of things that would have happened. At the very least, he may always think of it, when days like this rolled around…

 

But that was okay.

 

These days, his thoughts were far more structured. Much less likely to fall into existential mush and a vague feeling of panic. He’d finally started _feeling_ some of the things he’d been telling himself for years; that he wasn’t responsible for every ripple his best efforts helped to create. That a different outcome wasn’t a deviation from anything. That there was no _supposed to be_. His musings on these topics were more philosophical now, more abstract…

 

But he did still think about it. It could still nag at him, while he’d much rather be thinking about something else. And maybe it always would. But that was okay…

 

“Still thinking about Friday?” Tony asked, casually, calling Steve’s attention from the middle distance. He glanced up just as Tony flopped down beside him on the couch.

“Mh-hm” Steve nodded, reluctantly.

“Anything in particular?”

“…I was thinking that you’d never risk your life, flying a nuke through a wormhole.” Steve picked one of his many thoughts, at random.

“Which is good, right?” Tony smiled.

“It is, it’s just… I don’t know, it was kind of… your moment?” Steve winced, because he’d been unable to find a better way to phrase it. “I mean… it was a big moment, and a big moment for you, and there was this incredible thing you did, that you would do, and… It’s weird to think you won’t…” He trailed off, not really sure what he was talking about himself.

 

And Tony just carried on smiling, that warm, thoughtful look in his eyes.

 

“You know, if _I_ ever did anything that heroic, the only person I’d really want to know about it is you.” He said, resting his hand on Steve’s leg “And as long as _you’ve_ seen me do this big dramatic thing, then I get all the benefits and none of the PTSD, so I’m good.”

 

Steve huffed a laugh at the sudden change of tone.

 

“Hey, you wanna do something for our anniversary?”

 

**June**

Steve strolled into the breakroom, still flushed from his morning workout, to find Nat, Sharon, Rhodey and Nick all slumped around the table. Sharon had her head propped up on one hand, her eyes shut, like she might actually have fallen asleep there. Nat was sitting beside her, lost in the middle distance. Rhodey was sitting with his back to Steve, his head falling back like he didn’t have the energy to hold himself upright. Nick had given up completely, lying flat out on the table, his forehead resting against the wood.

 

Steve felt a little twist of guilt, then.

 

The four of them were ultimately responsible for about 90% of SHIELDs work, these days. And yeah, now they had a few more established teams, and people to delegate to – but, sometimes, that just meant more people to be responsible for. More questions to answer. More work to do.

 

The first time they’d had been invited to The White House, it had been a general conversation about the future of SHIELD. There hadn’t been many specifics to get lost in yet, there weren’t many active projects to discuss or any particular plans to explain. That meeting was of limited use, but at least it was over in an hour.

 

Whereas the meeting they’d left for yesterday evening had run all night, apparently.

 

And looking at the new management team, bone tired and burdened, Steve couldn’t help feeling like he should be helping. Not because he was Captain America, but just because he was their friend. It was the same guilt he would have felt watching one of them struggle to move a couch. The same impulse that drove him to greet Nat with,

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

She blinked, and took a second to focus on Steve’s face, and breathed a good natured laugh. Beside her, Sharon was reluctantly lifting her head.

 

“If I ever ask you to assassinate General Sloane, don’t ask any questions, okay?”

“But really.” He asked sympathetically, already thinking back to the evening he and Tony got to spend together while the others were working…

“Nah, this was just a long – and _tedious_ meeting. And none of us will ever get that time back, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it…” She sighed.

“We _could_ assassinate Sloane” Nick commented, against the table.

“Or just injure him a bit…” Rhodey mused, to himself. Nat rolled her eyes, and ignored them both.

“It won’t always be this bad” she yawned “A lot of this is _still_ just set up, and because we don’t have people to do the politics-”

“We should find some people to do that” Sharon cut in.

“Yeah, we need to hire more people.” Nat agreed “And finish setting up all the other departments, because we’re _still_ managing data from whole chunks of the organisation, and if we just finished hiring people to run those departments, we could give the data to _them_ …” She eventually trailed off into her own exhaustion.

“Or that would just mean we have more departments to talk about at the next meeting?” Rhodey sighed.

“But if we get more _departments_ running properly, then we can send the heads of those departments to these meetings instead.” Nat told him, conspiratorially.

 

“So, can I help with that?” Steve offered, and Nat smiled, warmly.

“I prefer you working on battle strategy rather than political strategy. Defending the earth from aliens is a full time job – it’s not your fault that it’s nowhere near as awful as talking to politicians.”

 

Steve smiled.

 

All Steve had ever wanted was to be a soldier. To defend people, and stand up for what he believed in. It had always struck him as odd that, the better he got at _that_ , the more keen people were for him to do something else entirely. Act as a poster boy. Manage a team made up of scientists and secret agents. Talk to politicians. Like any of these completely different roles, with completely different requirements, relying on completely different skills, were a logical next step. He’d never wanted to move on to any of those things, but he’d never felt able to say no. It would’ve felt like backing down from a challenge, refusing to do more because he preferred the bit he was already good at – choosing to stand still, to stop growing. It had never occurred to him, in the first timeline, that he could just get better at what _he_ did. That he could always be a better soldier, that he could help fight bigger threats, make better battle plans for bigger situations than he could’ve imagined at the start. That it always made more sense for him to do what he was good at, what he enjoyed doing, where he was of most use. That he would have been even better at it, and been much happier, and much more useful, if he’d focused on that the whole time instead of hating himself for being bad at other things.

 

He thought of himself as a member of this team. Someone with a specific area of expertise, one important thing that he was really good at and was therefore left to get on with.

 

He liked himself, like that.

 

“I could make coffee.” He offered, and there was a collective groan of assent from around the table.

“Yeah, okay.” Nat nodded, “ _that_ helps.”

**July**

 

Steve stood in the wings, taking little breaths and telling himself to relax his shoulders.

 

He looked out at the stage. Nat standing at the lectern, unflinching under a battery of camera flashes. He envied her calm. He still found it funny, that he could walk onto a battlefield feeling less nervous than he did before he had to speak in public – even after all those years of being pressured into doing it. He was really pleased he’d managed to step away from that particular role, in this new reality. Inspiring a team was one thing; he could do that. But he was forever glad that it was no longer his job to speak to the press.

 

Well, except for the day that SHIELD officially announced the return of Captain America. But Steve could hardly argue with that.

 

Nat was doing as much of the work as she could. She’d already explained the technical details of his death and resurrection, his new role with The Avengers, and, yes, he was the unidentified blonde that had been pictured with Tony Stark in recent months. She’d been taking questions for fifteen minutes. Just hoping the pack wouldn’t be quite so startled and hungry when they got to Steve.

 

She’d already refused to answer a question about Steve’s sexuality, and a question about his relationship with Tony, so he knew he had that to look forward to. But he’d known to expect that anyway. She _had_ answered several questions about how he’d been adjusting, but he assumed they would ask him again. That was fine. She’d refused to go into details about the transition happening within SHIELD, on the grounds that it was confidential – Steve planned to do the same.

 

He thought of himself, just a kid, standing in a set of Pyjamas and holding a shield with his script stuck to the back of it. Waiting, in a state of terror, to go out and ask people to buy war bonds. Thinking to himself, _I don’t know if I can do this._

 

That made him smile, at least.

 

 _Yeah, you can kid – it’s just not going to be fun. That’s all_.

 

And, hey, this might never be his forte – but at least he’d improved since then.

 

And then he heard Nat say his name, and the roar of renewed interest from the crowd. He looked up and saw her giving him a reassuring smile, taking a few steps away from the lectern. He smiled back, and took a deep breath, and walked out onto the stage.

 

The camera flashes were blinding. Almost violent. There was the usual chaos as everyone shouted their own question, the sound of his name echoing throughout the crowd. Steve just waited for the noise to die down, his eyes fixed in the middle distance until he heard Nat call one of the journalists’ names. He scanned the room to find the young man frantically waving at him from three rows back-

 

Steve almost said, _aww_ , out loud.

 

He remembered this guy. He’d covered Tony Stark and The Avengers for years, in the first timeline. The last time Steve had seen him, it had been 2017, maybe 2018 – and, _God_ , he looked so much younger now.

 

He didn’t say _aww_ , though. Amongst other things, they’d decided not to share the detail that Steve was from the future – the world just wasn’t ready for that. The official story was going to be that Steve had been found in the ice in 2010. As close to the truth as they could keep things.  

 

“Captain Rogers, is it true that you and Tony Stark are an item?”

 

Steve broke out into a grin.

 

“Very first question, huh?” He teased, and before the journalist could get too flustered, he added “Yes, it is. We are.”

 

Another roar of interest from the mob. Out of the corner of his eye Steve could see Nat waving at everyone to be quiet.

 

“Is it true that you’ve been living together for the last two years? Is it serious?”

 

In fairness, this guy _was_ a gossip columnist – Steve remembered him standing in the bushes whenever he left a Stark Foundation event. It probably made sense that this was his area of interest.

 

Steve felt his cheeks warm, but not because he was embarrassed. Actually, he was pleased these had been his first questions – this was the answer he was most confident of.

 

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled. “He gave me a home, right at the beginning. When I woke up here, I had nothing, no one, nowhere to go – and he stepped in and saved me, is the truth. And, back then, it was just because that’s what he does. He spends his whole life quietly helping people, and never making a big deal of it, and never pointing it out, even when people are calling him selfish or egotistical. I don’t think it was anything personal for him, at the start. But I fell in love with him, as soon as I met him, and as far as I was concerned, I was his from that moment on. So.”

 

Steve really hoped that hadn’t sounded cheesy, or overly personal; although, how he could be accused of being too personal in _this_ room of people… But it wasn’t really these people Steve was talking to, right now. It was yet another chance to prove to Tony that he would always have his back, that he was endlessly proud of him, that there was never a situation where he wasn’t appropriate or a time when something was more important.

 

There was a distinctly softer swell of noise from the crowd – like some of _them_ might’ve been saying _aww_.

 

But there’s always one, isn’t there?

 

“How do you feel about the fact that your new boyfriend is a notorious War Profiteer?”

 

The smile dropped from Steve’s face. He felt his chest swell, and tighten. He could swear he heard a nervous little shuffle in the room.

 

“Successfully supplying a war effort doesn’t make him a war profiteer” Steve answered, his voice cold “Not unless you want to call every medical supplier, engineering firm and clothing manufacturer from the forties a war profiteer. You have to put money ahead of service, to get called that – sell to the enemy, or steal from your allies, or sell shoddy products, or lie. Correct me if I’m wrong, but has Tony Stark ever been accused of any of that? Or did he just sell weapons? And, even though _he_ wasn’t the one selling his weapons to terrorists, he still took the incredibly brave decision to close down his entire operation, just to stop that from happening. So. That’s how I feel about that.”

 

A slightly more confused reaction from the crowd that time.

 

“Okay” Nat’s voice spoke across the murmuring “Does anyone have a question that _isn’t_ about Tony Stark…?”

**August**

It was a hot, humid Sunday afternoon. The whole city seemed slower and further away, everything insulated by the thickness of the air. Steve liked days like this.

 

He hadn’t gone out for anything in particular. Just wanting to experience the weather, be a part of this lazy summer that was happening all around him. He’d followed his feet on a pleasant stroll through the neighbourhood, happily noting all the buildings that were still in their rightful places. Thinking of all the scars that hadn’t been inflicted, the memorials to victims of the Chitauri that would never be built, now.

 

Eventually, his feet brought him back to The Tower. He walked through the main entrance feeling happy, and calm, and not thinking much of anything-

 

And there was Bruce.

 

And, because Steve wasn’t really thinking, he _so_ nearly walked over to hug him, and ask him how he’d been – like he knew him.

 

It was only Bruce’s slightly startled expression that gave Steve pause, that reminded him that he was still a stranger-

 

But Bruce was here. That was a pretty big thing.

 

“Bruce Banner.” Steve beamed, watching Bruce’s face flicker in concern.

“Uh, yeah, hi” He extended a slightly awkward hand “…And you’re Steve Rogers?”

“Pleased to meet you” Steve carried on grinning.

“So, I don’t know if you know, but Natasha – Agent Romanoff – came to see me…”

“Yeah, she mentioned it.” Steve nodded.

 

Actually, Steve knew exactly what had happened at Nat’s first meeting with Bruce. It had been Steve’s idea for Nat to approach Bruce in the first place, and mostly his suggestions on what to offer, and a lot of his input on exactly where and when and how. And when it was done, Nat had come to Steve with a full debrief – which was essentially, _Bruce isn’t interested, he doesn’t trust us at all, and he’ll probably disappear now that he knows we’ve got eyes on him._

 

And yet, here he was.

 

“She said she’d offered up an open invitation” Steve carried on, his voice friendly “I’m glad you took her up on it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I’m staying.” Bruce clarified quickly, still scanning Steve with a sceptical eye. Steve recognised this look, by now. The same expression he’d seen on Rhodey’s face, and Clint’s, and Sharon’s, when he first met them in this reality – _so, you already know me, huh_?

“You want me to take you up to Nat’s office?” Steve offered, and Bruce finally breathed a little smile.

“Thanks – I mean, if it’s no trouble.”

 

“Of course not” Steve smiled, gesturing to the main elevators. “I’ll take you though the research lab. Give you a chance to see it…”

 

**September**

 

Steve wandered through the living room, looking for Tony-

 

And froze, when he found him.

 

Tony was just standing on the balcony, gazing over the horizon… the orange of the sunset flickering gold in his beautiful eyes, his hair soft and perfectly dishevelled in the breeze. He was _stunning_. So much so that Steve’s step stumbled to a stop, his breath caught in his chest.

 

For a few minutes Steve just stood there and stared at him, revelling in the fact that he could – marvelling at the fact that Tony was real. Steve spent so much time thinking about the life they were making, planning for things that might happen and shouldn’t happened and would happen if... Every so often, he liked to stop and remember everything he had already. To enjoy the fact that this beautiful, wonderful man was really here, alive, and _his_.

 

And then Tony glanced up at him, and smiled, and, oh, Steve’s heart…

 

Steve felt pleasantly watery as he walked out to meet him, making sure to take in every tiny detail of this amazing and inconsequential moment.

 

“What’re you thinking about?” He sighed, happily.

“I was thinking about The Deletening, actually.” Tony breathed.

“Yeah?” Steve questioned, with a little frown. “What about it?”

“I was just wondering about how Peirce figured it out when he did…” Tony answered thoughtfully, “I just.. I _know_ he didn’t have a clue, when he left me in that bunker. And you _knew_ that he knew, when he got out of that elevator, and I just keep wondering what happened in between…”

 

Steve felt his good mood cool just a slightly, his affection for Tony now laced with concern.

 

“What made you think about that?”

“I don’t know, really” Tony shrugged, “I thought about it yesterday. Just, you know, popped into my head… _I wonder how he figured it out when he did…_ ”

“And then…?” Steve prompted, seeing more than that behind Tony’s eyes.

“…And then I watched the security footage again. And I think it _must’ve_ been the elevator – he was in there for ten minutes, not going anywhere, so it makes sense he was _actually_ finding out what we were up to, in that time…” Tony was biting his bottom lip now, the way he did when a puzzle made him think “And at first I thought he must’ve gotten a call, just because no one went in or out of it… but… I don’t know, I wonder why they waited until he was in that elevator. It’s one of so few places we didn’t have a camera, like someone knew to wait until he couldn’t be _seen_ – and why would you go to that much trouble, if you were just going to _call_ him?” Tony spoke as though it was a hypothetical question, or one aimed purely at himself “And that’s before you ask who knew what we were doing, and how _they_ would have known to call him then…”

“Is this bothering you?” Steve asked, gently, when it was clear that Tony had drifted into his own thoughts again. And Tony blinked, and gave his head a self-conscious little shake.

“No, not really.” He smiled “Like I say, just an idea that came into my head. Some other idea will knock it out of the way in a minute.”

“Because, if you want to, we can look into it.” Steve pushed, and Tony’s smile grew wider.

 

And warmer.

 

“No,” He answered, pressing a palm to Steve’s chest “I’d rather some other idea knocked it out of the way…”

**October**

 

There was an unmistakable pang of nostalgia as Steve arrived at the Stark Institute Halloween Party.

 

This was the first public event he’d been to since he was announced to the world. He had thought to expect some attention – Tony had taken great pleasure in pointing out the attention he was likely to get, as a matter of fact. He was still taking every opportunity to tease Steve about how gushing he’d been at the press conference (which was _barely_ a cover for how touched he was) and he’d spent the whole drive here predicting the ridiculous questions Steve was going to get.

 

So, Steve wasn’t exactly _unprepared_ …

 

But when he stepped out of the car, and heard a chorus of people yelling ‘ _Cap!_ _Captain Rogers!_ ’, there was an immediate wave of familiarity – he _remembered_ this. Just slightly different from the commotion he’d watched from the side lines, as Tony’s plus one. And he’d realised… he really _was_ Captain America again, now.

 

But not the Captain America he had been.

 

Already, the whole world seemed less interested in the old Captain America myth – far more excited by his new relationship, and the new persona it suggested. And, more to the point, Steve was far less interested in what they were interested in. He wasn’t thinking about their expectations enough to be confused by them. He didn’t _have_ to think about their expectations anymore, because he existed outside of them now. He just got out of the car, and smiled and took his boyfriends hand, exactly as _he_ wanted to. Without a single thought about whether he should or whether Captain America would or what else it would suggest. Answering the questions that he wanted to answer, and saying what he actually thought – which, mainly, was how wonderful Tony was.

 

Steve Rogers didn’t bother to wonder what Captain America would do, anymore. From now on, Captain America was going to be defined by what Steve Rogers thought.

 

 “You’re impossible” Tony smiled at him, when they finally made it inside.

“What?” Steve asked, faux innocent, and Tony narrowed his eyes at him.

“You know what you did.” He teased “…you don’t need to make _every_ question about me.”

“Every question _was_ about you!” Steve reminded him. “And you are amazing, that _is_ the answer…” Tony just rolled his eyes, and didn’t quite cover the smile.

 

Steve took a moment to scan the room, his eyes naturally catching on the people he knew. Sharon, talking to a small group of women at the bar. Nat, barely bothering to cover her disdain at the politician she’d been cornered by. Pepper, standing with a tall, dark haired man that Steve didn’t recognise…

 

Standing awfully close…

 

“Who’s that?” He asked Tony, trying to gesture subtly. He saw Tony’s eyes widen joyfully, like a teenager who’d just remembered they had _the best_ bit of gossip.

“That’s Javier Lake, he’s a professor at Harvard Law…I think it was Harvard Law… _But_ , he also arrived with Pepper at the Fire Fighters Fundraiser last week” He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially.

 

Steve wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

 

To be fair, in two whole years, he still hadn’t worked out how to feel about Pepper. Mostly, he avoided her – and then felt bad for it. He was sure it wasn’t jealousy anymore. Amongst other things, Tony still spent a lot of time with Pepper, and talked about her often, and fondly, and none of that had bothered Steve in a long time.

 

Maybe it was still just guilt…

 

“Does that bother you?” He asked, glancing back at Tony. And Tony frowned, vaguely confused.

“No?”

“You never think of what might have been?” Steve pressed. And then Tony blinked…and then he smiled…

 

And then Steve realised – Tony had forgotten all about what might’ve been. That, as far as Tony was concerned, Pepper was a very dear friend and it would be truly bizarre for him to have a problem with her dating.

 

And Steve felt good about that, of course.

And then he felt bad about feeling good about that.

And then he realised…Pepper finding someone else was just another reminder that she’d never be with Tony. And that was one of the things he still didn’t think about…and yes, this was still just guilt.  

 

“Do you think I ever thought about that, in the first timeline?” Tony asked, warmly. “Do you think she did?”

“Probably not” Steve sighed a smile “But then, you didn’t know what the alternative was.”

“Do you think he’d have been conflicted, if he did know?” Tony’s tone was light…

 

But that was a pretty deep question.

 

“Is it terrible if I say _I hope so_?” Steve winced.

“No.” Tony laughed.

“Although… probably not, no.” Steve confessed “That Tony was in love with her, not me. I treated that Tony terribly… and, anyway, I was a very different person, then.”

“Well, I find it hard to believe that Tony wasn’t in love with you” Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve in a sceptical squint. “But I guess I was a different person too, huh?”

“Well, yes and No.” Steve smiled. And then a thoughtful look crossed Tony’s features.

 

“Were they really that perfect together?” He asked, in a slightly different tone “The other Tony and Pepper? Or, the other Pepper, I guess…”

“In the end” Steve’s smile saddened as he spoke.

“But not all the way from the beginning…?” Tony prompted.

 

Steve took a little breath. He’d never much liked talking about this topic. When he’d given Tony the full story of their lives in the other timeline, he’d skipped over the details of Tony’s relationship with Pepper. He’d given the headlines, and he’d told Tony exactly how his life ended… and he’d danced around the story in the middle, and he’d been doing that ever since. And part of that was just because it made him uncomfortable – but it was partly that he didn’t completely trust himself with it. He was always scared that he was going to be unfair to Pepper, or overcompensate for his jealousy… that, for some reason, he’d end up giving a false impression of things. He’d rather not be involved at all.

 

But, since Tony had outright asked…

 

“Well… I know, right at the beginning, you used to clash a lot, because she didn’t want to watch you kill yourself. Well, I don’t know – you didn’t exactly come to me for relationship advice, so there was probably a lot to it that I don’t really know about. But I know you fought a lot after New York, because you spent all your time building suits and, you know… And _then_ you broke up over it, for a while… and then I don’t know what happened exactly, because I found out you broke up _right_ before Siberia, so I wasn’t there for the next bit… The next I knew, you’d announced your engagement in the press…”

 

They say you always remember when you were, when you hear traumatic news. Steve had been in a little youth hostel in Prague when he saw that press conference – and he remembered every detail. The flaking yellow paint on the walls. The rusty radiators, one with a little plastic bowl underneath it, collecting drips. The ancient TV set standing stoically on the bar, playing silent images of Tony Stark with his arm around Pepper, smiling. How much Steve had wanted to burst into tears… But Sam had been right there, and they were trying to keep a low profile, and anyway, he wasn’t supposed to care.

 

“And then happily ever after?” Tony prompted, bringing Steve back into the room.

“Yeah….Well, not quite” Steve remembered as he spoke “I mean, Thanos happened before you even got married, so… And, actually, you did sort of break up again after that happened, but not really…”

“But not really?” Tony frowned.

“Well, _when_ Thanos happened, the first time, you immediately flew off to fight him in space” Steve shorthanded, because Tony already knew _that_ part of the story. What Steve hadn’t mentioned before was Pepper’s reaction to it. “She was absolutely furious, because back then she was still making you promise not to fly off doing reckless things, and you were still telling her you wouldn’t. So, apparently, when you _first_ went off, she spent a day telling everyone who’d listen that the wedding was off. And then, obviously, the snap happened, and no one was really thinking about things like that – and you were lost in space, and everyone was just hoping you’d come back alive, and screw anything beyond that… and by the time I saw Pepper, she was just talking about wanting to see you again, so I thought she’d forgiven you – and, obviously, she didn’t say anything about leaving you while you were recovering, so, I don’t know… But then, Nat said that you _did_ break up, like two weeks after you got back, and that it had been pretty amicable and sensible and mature and final… And then, like three weeks after _that_ , Nat says that no, apparently Pepper is pregnant, and you’re building her an eco-house…” And only when he reached the end of the story did Steve remember why Tony had asked him to tell it in the first place.

 

“But after _that_ , you definitely lived happily ever after.” He finished, more lightly. Tony considered Steve for a moment, an almost playful expression on his face.

“You ever think, telling the story like that… That maybe Pepper and I _weren’t_ meant to be together, that we actually had a pretty dysfunctional, on-again-off-again relationship, that we probably would’ve ended if I hadn’t knocked her up…?”

“No” Steve answered quickly, cringing. He _knew_ he’d screw up telling this story… “You’re just going to have to trust me. By the end, you were living this really happy life with Pepper and your daughter, and you _were_ good together… She stopped trying to stop you, she helped you to be you, there at the end. And she was the person you wanted with you, at the end. That’s just… how it worked out, that time.”

“Hm.” Tony smiled, and then looked back over to Pepper. She was giggling at something Professor Lake was saying, very close to her ear. “You’re looking at her and thinking, whoever that guy is, he won’t be as good as the one you took from her, am I right?” And, as awful as that sounded, Steve had to laugh.

“You are exactly right.”

“You think she’s settling.” Tony added, amused. And Steve just opened his arms in a gesture of surrender, _what do you want from me_. “It doesn’t occur to you that maybe she was settling the first time around?”

“Settling for _you_?” Steve frowned.

“Settling for another version of me, who, from the sounds of it, wasn’t perfect for _her_. Someone who she had to make compromises to be happy with. Because however great he might have been, he wasn’t actually right for _her_.”

“She seemed pretty happy with who she ended up with.” Steve corrected.

“Ah, but that is the very definition of settling, isn’t it?” Tony offered. And Steve rolled his eyes, and went to argue…

 

…but couldn’t find anything to answer that with.

 

“Come on” Tony grinned “We’d better go and rescue Natasha.”

**November**

 

Steve was dreaming – but, of course, he didn’t know that.

 

He really thought he was standing in his living room, watching Loki stroll confidently to where Tony was making drinks at the sink. A scene that felt immediately familiar to him, even though he’d never actually seen it. A moment he’d heard Tony describe so vividly, a moment he’d pictured so often, it didn’t occur to Steve that this wasn’t even his memory.  

 

It felt so real.

 

“You’re stalling” Loki observed.

“Threatening” Tony corrected, casually, looking up to smile at him.

 

Steve tried to call out to him, and realised that he couldn’t speak – that he didn’t even know what he was trying to say…

 

“ _Maybe_ your army comes, and _maybe_ its too much for us, but it’s all on you.” Tony carried on calmly, “We do our best work after the fact. We’re the _A-_ vengers, right, not the _pre-_ vengers…”

 

Steve’s stomach turned at that…but he wasn’t sure why…

 

“And if we can’t defend the earth, you can be damned sure we’ll avenge it.”

 

And then Loki just smirked, and glanced at his sceptre. Steve saw him flex his fingers around it, raising it slightly as he walked slowly toward Tony.

 

“And how will your friends have time for me…” He asked, ominously-

 

And the realisation crashed into Steve like a truck.

 

“…When they’re already fighting you.”

 

Steve couldn’t move his limbs. He couldn’t make himself speak. His whole being was locked in a state of primal fear, he _couldn’t_ stop this, he _couldn’t-_

 

“Steve, Steve baby, wake up, it’s okay.”

 

Steve managed to break free of something, and suddenly he was speaking. _Shouting._ The same four words, over and over, like a prayer.

 

_There’s no arc reactor. There’s no arc reactor. There’s no arc reactor._

“Steve, _Steve_ , its okay, you’re okay…”

 

Steve felt the cool press of Tony’s palm against his chest, right over his heart. He reached up put his hand over Tony’s, holding him there, feeling as though he could literally draw life into his chest through that touch alone.

 

“Tony, are you okay, did he hurt you?”

“Steve, it’s okay, you were dreaming.” Tony soothed, his voice slow and soft and clear. “It was a _dream_ , Steve.”

 

Steve heard it, at last.

 

_Oh, thank God, it was a dream…_

_…what was?_

 

“I’m sorry” Steve whispered, automatically, and Tony just kept telling him it was okay for as long as it took his heart to slow down. And then Tony leant into him, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and kissing his neck very softly.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked, gently.

“I…” But all the details slipped away as he tried to grasp them, dissolving in front of him, until there was literally nothing there “I don’t remember.”

“There’s no arc reactor…?” Tony reminded him.

“Hm?”

“That’s what you kept saying – there’s no arc reactor.” Tony explained, stroking a hand over Steve’s arm “Like that was a bad thing, or something.”

 

Steve just shook his head, confused.

 

When could _that_ possibly be a bad thing?

 

**December**

“I love December 23rd” Tony sighed, snuggling closer into Steve’s chest.

 

The two of them were curled up on the couch, under several fleecy blankets, just watching the snow float gently passed the window. In a few hours the whole team – including Bruce – would be downstairs for The Avengers Christmas party. Steve and Tony had decided to spend those few hours cuddling.

 

Steve laughed affectionately, wrapping the blanket tighter around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him in.

“Why December 23rd?” He smiled.

“ _Because_ , tomorrow, it actually _is_ Christmas – and that means it’s not Christmas anymore.” Tony explained, as though it was obvious. Steve laughed again.

“You know what’s really weird is that I actually know what you mean”

“The day _before_ Christmas, it _is_ Christmas really, and everything is still sparkly and exciting, and everyone I like is here…” Tony carried on happily.

 

Steve smiled, and kissed Tony’s forehead very softly.

“Are you happy?” He asked.

“Of course I am” Tony answered easily, tilting his head to fix Steve with a sincere look.

“But not just now, I mean in general – is your life happy?” Steve went on, stroking a hand through Tony’s hair.

“Steve. Let me tell you.” Tony began, seriously “Before I met you, I was _never_ happy. There were the self-destructive, recently orphaned years. Then there were the empty, irresponsible years. And then the brief _I’m dying of poisoning_ period. And that whole time, it was a constant battle against people putting me down and trying to trip me up and reminding the whole world what a bastard I was. And, I mean, I love Happy and Pepper and Rhodey and God bless them for doing what they do, and I know I need people to keep me in check and call me out for this stuff – but I _never_ had someone love me and support me unconditionally, like I think your parents are probably supposed to, or, you know, _someone…_ ” And his eyes softened, a little blush colouring his cheeks “And then there was you. You just walked into my life, and fixed my broken body, and made me a team and a home and a mission, and you found the man who killed my parents and _literally punched him to death_ – and you loved me, and supported me, and _stood up for me_ , just, _relentlessly_ … And now nothing hurts, and I have this whole new family, and I have _fun_ , and, just, every day I’m with you, I’m happy. So. Yeah.”

 

“That’s okay then.” Steve whispered – because he thought his voice might crack, if he spoke any louder.

 

He thought back to December 23rd last year, when he’d been balled up in anxiety at the thought of Tony going undercover. When he’d been too consumed by the fear of losing him to appreciate having him there.

 

He thought back to December 23rd 2012, the first time around, when he’d been lost in the alien world of the future, a stranger to everyone on earth. When he’d been too overwhelmed by his own trauma to even see Tony Stark, right there, the whole time.

 

He thought back to December 23rd 2017, when he and Nat and Sam and Wanda had sat huddled around a tiny little electric fire, all pretending they weren’t thinking about Christmas. When he’d gone too far into his own mistakes to ever make it home again, when he’d already ruined forever any hope of making Tony happy…

 

He thought, idly, of what it would be like to talk to any of those past versions of himself. How each of them would react to the news that things were going to be just this perfect, in the end. But he didn’t think it in a philosophical way. He didn’t think it as a time traveller.

 

He just liked to think of it. Because he was just so happy, right now.

 


	22. The Battle of "New York" pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...my tale of woe. My laptop blue screened, and thanks to my unreliable internet connection and a betrayal by one drive, it's looking like I've lost like 30,000 words of this (Yes - 😭😭😭 )
> 
> I *still* hold out some hope that my stuff can be retrieved - I'm the *last* person on earth who actually has 'a laptop in the shop' (and possibly the last person to ever lose files when their laptop crashes - it's 2019!!) But, after a week and a half of vain hope, I realised my choices were abandon fic, or write it all again.
> 
> SO I'M WRITING IT ALL AGAIN.
> 
> By sincere apologies that updates may not be as frequent as previously suggested - a lot of catching up to do... so much plot...😭😭😭....
> 
> But, anyway, many thanks for your patience, and for reading.

Steve woke up in a good mood.

 

He didn’t always – even now. There were still mornings when he woke up from nightmares, or with a nagging feeling of guilt, or those uneasy, unspoken questions about what everything meant. There were even mornings when he woke up worried about mundane things like meetings and missions and press conferences.

 

But there were also so many mornings when he couldn’t believe that he was _ever_ unhappy.

 

Mornings when he woke up fully aware of just how wonderful his life was, just how many of his dearest wishes had come true, just how far he’d come.

 

Mornings when, if Tony was there beside him, Steve would wake him up with kisses, and compliments, and promises…

 

But Tony hadn’t come to bed yet.

 

And even that made Steve smile, today. Thinking of Tony working with Bruce, in the tower, like he should be. Creating magic with his own two hands, surrounded by a technological otherworld of his own creation. Steve could picture him, his hair wild and his t-shirt stained with something, still babbling and joking and talking with his hands, after fourteen straight hours. Steve grinned stupidly, and curled his toes.

 

Steve made a point of never telling Tony he should go to bed. But that wasn’t the same as asking him to come to bed….

 

He jumped up and threw on some comfortable clothes – because, these days, no one thought anything of seeing Captain America pad around the tower in a pair of old jeans and yesterdays t-shirt. And he remembered that neither of them had anything specific to do today. A whole day to just _be_. With Tony.

 

On good days, Steve could just enjoy his life for what it was in the moment. Sometimes he could forget that he’d ever done this before, look at the world and see a Tuesday in February when he was forty…ish, and nothing else.

 

But, on _really_ good days, he could think back to the original timeline and still be happy. On those days, it was like his brain knew it didn’t have to flinch from it. That he’d be able to remember the real story of his life, and appreciate where it’d brought him.

 

Today, as Steve stepped into the elevator, he thought of just how much he’d have loved to do this ten years ago. And he thought of it as ten years ago, rather than ‘the first time around’, and there wasn’t the little hangover of regret, or the lingering sadness that it wasn’t this way, before. He just thought back to when he first fell in love with Tony, and how much he’d _wished_ he could casually stroll into the workshop and kiss him.

 

How delighted he’d have been, if he’d ever walked into the workshop and seen Tony smile at him like _that_.

 

His hair was just as gorgeously dishevelled as Steve had imagined, his eyes shining as brightly as they always did, however hard he’d been working. The t-shirt was stained with coffee rather than motor oil, because this project was clearly the theoretical kind. The air around him was moving with dense holograms, and one of the work desk’s covered in scraps of paper – which Tony still resorted to, occasionally, when his mind outran his computer programs.

 

“Oh, I _love_ you” Steve sighed, just before he threw his arms around him.

“And a good morning to you to” Tony giggled into the nook of his neck.

“No Bruce?” Steve asked, glancing around the room

“No, he bailed an hour ago” Tony confirmed, lifting his head to look at Steve “What a wuss, right?”

“Some people have no stamina” Steve smiled, and then leant forward and kissed him, slow and very softly.

“Is this a subtle hint that it’s time to go to bed?” Tony breathed, dreamily.

“Or I could just fuck you right here.” Steve suggested. Tony threw his head back and laughed at that, which just made Steve want him even more.

“So, not subtle then?”

“Not aiming for subtle, no” Steve confirmed, letting his hands snake further down Tony’s back, just to make the point.

 

Tony waved the holograms away, and kissed Steve again – not soft, this time. In fact, Tony grabbed him with such heat that Steve wondered if maybe he’d liked the _sex in the workshop_ idea… which was fine with him, really-

 

“Can all Avengers please report to the conference room, immediately”

 

JARVIS’ urgent tone jarred instantly, dragging them both out of the moment. They froze, and shared a worried look, their arms still around each other when Tony asked,

 

“What’s going on, J?”

“I’m not sure, sir. Only that Agent Romanoff has sent out an alert.”

 

Steve felt a shiver run up his spine.

 

“Okay, we’re on our way.”

 

*

 

Steve could swear that, when he and Tony walked into the conference room, everyone looked away from them.

 

Like they felt _bad_ about something…

 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, while he was still walking over from the door.

“We should probably wait for everyone before we get into it.” Nat answered – _kindly_.

 

And there was that shiver again.

 

“But the headline is…?” Tony prompted, while Steve scanned to see who they were still waiting for. Bruce, Sam and Bucky…

 

…Also, this was way too long a pause before anyone answered that question.

 

He looked up, and caught Nat’s eye, and saw her take a steadying little breath before she told him.

 

“The Tesseract has been stolen. We’re pretty sure it’s Loki.”

 

Steve exhaled slowly and waited for that to hit him. He _knew_ that was really bad – that it was going to be a trigger for all sorts of things.

 

“I thought we’d made sure that couldn’t happen.” He heard himself say it, in a strange, robotic voice. He didn’t even remember thinking it. He saw a flicker of nervousness run through the room, but he was still too numb, or shocked, or whatever this was, to interpret it.

“We did everything we could” Nat answered, her tone a little firmer now. “No one has experimented on it, it’s being held in a secure location-”

 

Ah. It hit him.

 

“- there _were_ decoys, and-”

“Yeah, I’m sorry” Steve cut in, breathlessly. “I didn’t mean – Sorry, can you give me a minute?” And with that he turned and left the room.

 

He stopped in the hallway, and rested his weight heavily on the wall. He just needed to breathe for a minute. He needed to turn this sudden, cold panic into words, he needed to _think_ -

 

“Hey” Tony’s voice cut through the internal noise, an immediate balm.

“Hey.” Steve managed a small smile, already feeling silly for the outburst. And then he felt Tony’s hand on the side of his face, gently guiding him to look up.

“Speak.” Tony said, simply.

 

Steve let go of a painful breath.

 

“I don’t even know.” He admitted. “I know we’re better set to handle this than anything, I know we are….” Which was true. And Steve didn’t freak out before any of their other missions now, not _even_ when Tony was out in front of them… well, mostly… But, whatever way you looked at it, he was calmer about far more serious things than this.

“Because it’s a time travel thing…?” Tony guessed, cautiously.

“Maybe.” Steve shrugged. “…I don’t know, maybe I’d just decided this was going to be a big deal. I’ve been waiting for this to happen for so long…”

 

But his mind was racing ahead of his mouth. Reminding him of all the reasons he’d decided this was going to be a big deal, all the places this idea led.

 

 

“I just… you know, this is when I start to worry that it’s all predestined after all, and I just know I’m going to start thinking about how this was supposed to work out – even though I don’t want it to work out the way it did, the last time. And… This feels like the first step on the road to Thanos.”

 

And there it was. The words for the cold panic – the image of Tony, on his knees, power surging through his body as he raised the gauntlet-

 

“If this part of it was destined to happen, whatever I did – I mean, I _know_ Thanos is still out there, and I know I can’t stop that just by stopping this, but it just feels like- I don’t know.” Steve gave up suddenly, feeling like he’d slipped off of a treadmill. He couldn’t explain it as quickly as it was occurring to him.

 

Tony took a step into him, looping his arms lazily around his waist and fixing him was a kind, firm look.

 

“I am _not_ pre-destined to die at the hands of Thanos, _whatever_ Stephen Strange says.”

 

Steve smiled immediately. Tony always got to the heart of these things.

 

“I promise you, fourteen million possible outcomes isn’t enough for _your_ reality – it really doesn’t include every reality that ever existed. And, yeah, Thanos is still out there. We’ll handle him. Like we knew Loki was still out there, and now we’re going to handle him. And no, this isn’t going to work out like it did the first time around – it’s going to work out how it was supposed to.” Tony assured him, stroking a soothing hand along his back.

 

And, at that exact moment, Bucky and Sam went to walk by them. They both glanced up, the same look of gentle concern in their eyes.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, in that particular tone that only Steve knew. It wasn’t, _is everything okay?_ It was, specifically, _are you okay?_

“Yeah, I’m okay” Steve nodded, feeling Tony squeeze him just gently, another silent reassurance.

 

And he let go of a slow breath, and reassured _himself_ ,

 

_Come on, you know how time travel works._

 

This was all part of one linear story. Steve had come up against this threat once, as a much younger man, and now he was going to face it again. Like he’d come up against the Red Skull a hundred times by 1945, or how he’d come up against HYRDRA again, seventy years after that. It wasn’t the inevitability of time but the very nature of life that kept Steve coming up against challenges – and each was a new challenge, even when he’d come up against the enemy before.

 

And, when they faced Loki _this_ time, it would be with Bucky and Sam to help them.

It would be in a world where Steve had friends to check that he was okay.

It would be in a world where he could hold Tony rather than fight him.

A world where Tony didn’t have a heart full of shrapnel, and an electromagnet wired into his chest.

 

It would be in a world he’d never seen before – which should make him more anxious, but it just made him feel less responsible, less separate from everyone else.

 

It made this feel more like any other mission.

 

Bucky just nodded back at him, and followed Sam through to the conference room. Over Tony’s shoulder, Steve could see a bed-headed Bruce making his way along the corridor.

 

“C’mon” He whispered to Tony. “We’ve got work to do.” But Tony held him firm for a second.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, actually” He smiled, genuinely. “I do _actually_ feel better. Maybe I’m finally getting better at handling this in general.”

“Yeah, you are.” Tony told him, with a sincerity Steve hadn’t expected. It made him feel a little bit weak, but in a nice way. “And I’m really proud of you.”

 

Steve had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat.

 

“Don’t die, okay?” He whispered. Tony grinned.

 

“I promise.”

 

*

 

“Okay, so, here’s what we know” Nat began, bringing a wall of holograms to life behind her. “About an hour ago, the facility in Reykjavík was infiltrated by someone matching Loki’s description. Twelve of the staff there were killed, and Loki took control of seven more using ‘a magic weapon’ – we’re assuming the staff” She nodded towards Steve, to credit him with the detail. “But the agents we _were_ able to talk to are still pretty shaken, and we haven’t got a lot of coherent details from them.”

“According to reports, he appeared ‘by magic’” Nick added, like the words tasted bad in his mouth

“They seem pretty sure he didn’t use the Tesseract – and the data suggests that the Tesseract remained inactive throughout.” Nat clarified.

“Which means he’s already using a different plan from last time.” Steve finished for her.

“Well, it means he used a different way in. But then, we made sure he had to.” She corrected. And then she gestured to the holograms behind her.

 

“As it stands, we think a version of his original plan is still the most likely. That, ultimately, he’ll be aiming to take the Tesseract back to Thanos, in exchange for an army and a chance to rule Earth. We’ve got to get the Tesseract back, preferably before he uses it to open a portal into outer space.” She summarised, and then looked at Bruce. “You and Tony have that program set up and ready to go, yeah?”

“Er, yeah. You have all the spectrometers calibrated for gamma rays?”

“We’ve got people calling every lab we know” Sharon confirmed.

“Now, obviously, we know that in one version of this, Loki wanted us to find him.” Nat went on, and looked over to Steve.

 

Steve considered how easily everyone in this timeline had accepted that there was another. He wondered whether it ever made any of them uncomfortable, or if they ever wondered what was real or right, because of him. If it was really that simple to all of them – that Steve had seen this once before, and that was all.

 

If it really was that simple, after all.

 

“His original plan was for us to catch him, so that he could turn us on each other and neutralise us before the ‘war’ even began.” Steve told them, even though they already knew. “But, the first time around, he already had Clint. I don’t know how much of this plan he’d formed before he got here, and how much came from what Clint told him. Also, the first time around we brought him back to the Helicarrier, which was obviously a stupid idea – but I think we have to be prepared for his plan to change, if we do something less stupid.”

 

“We can’t take the plan for granted” Nat nodded. “But, you _do_ know a bit about his character, and his general tactics.”

“Yeah, he’s a trickster” Steve smiled, thinking back to Thor telling tales about them as kids… “He works with illusions and mind control and general manipulation. He has the mind stone. And he’s a total diva.”

“So, there’s that to be prepared for.” Nat sighed, and waved forward an image of Erik Selvig. “Selvig is a recent recruit to the Chicago office. They’ve been alerted, and Selvig is being moved to a secure location. But given what we know about Selvig’s relationship with Thor, and Thor’s relationship with Loki, it seems likely this is the guy he’s gonna go to, if he needs help to get this portal to work. So, Bucky, Sam, I’m sending _both_ of you to extract Selvig, and bring him here.”

“And if Loki engages?” Bucky asked; a genuine request for further orders.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll let you win, and bring him in – especially if you’re bringing Selvig with you. But, obviously, you’ll have as much back up as we can send with you, and we’ll be on alert to come in if you need us.”

 

Steve felt a little knot of anxiety then… but he wasn’t sure what order he’d have given, in Nat’s place.

 

“We haven’t got time to lose on this, so, Tony, Bruce, I need you looking for the Tesseract, and Sam and Bucky, Rhodey’s going to brief you to leave right now.” She carried on, firmly, Rhodey walking forward before she’d even finished the sentence. Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eye, and they shared the same little smile, _it’s going to be okay_. And then Tony followed Bruce out the door, and then Sam, and then, just before Bucky left, Nat called out.

 

“Don’t let that staff anywhere near you.”

 

Bucky looked back at her, an eyebrow raised.

 

“Just remember, if you do have to engage him – just remember what that thing does, okay?” She told him, her tone a little softer now. Bucky smiled.

 

“Well, obviously.”

 

Steve waited until he was sure Bucky was out of earshot before he turned to Nat again.

“You’re worried about sending him?” He asked, and he saw a little flicker of genuine thought on her face, like she might’ve wanted to answer as a friend. But, right now, she was there as a leader, so she just gave her head a little shake.

“I’m worried about sending anyone.” She told him, resolutely. “But we don’t need to _worry_ about all the things that could happen, we need to prepare for them. So. We’re going to run you through the plans that we have so far, and we just need to know if you have any input, from last time.” She glanced at Sharon to start.

 

“SHIELD personnel have been drilling for this since January last year, they’re already getting into place. We also have an alert and evacuation plan, just in case it’s needed – we’re contacting state and city officials now, to get things as ready as we can, without causing a panic.”

“We know that, last time, Loki needed to engineer physical machinery in order to use the Tesseract” Maria carried on, seamlessly “And we also know that he’s a diva. So, chances are, he’ll want a visible, symbolic and technologically equipped location – our best guess, this place is the target.” She gestured around her “So, we’re going to get the building evacuated and secured – without making it too obvious. We don’t actually _want_ him to pick another location, we want to bring him to us. _But_ , we are running all the scans we can think of, as wide as we can, in case we need to relocate in a hurry.”

“We’ve been in touch with military organisations worldwide” Rhodey added “And we can be more honest with them. They’re as prepared as they can be, to back us up.”

 

Steve took a moment to take this in.

 

“Okay, so, ideally, he lets us bring him back here, we’re ready for any attack, and we manage to keep him – and the tesseract – right here.” Steve mused, after a moment.

“And the Mind Stone.” Nat added – which had a more ominous tone than anything anyone had said so far. Steve shook that thought away, on instinct.

“And, hopefully, Thor comes here looking for him, and we can hand him over to the Asgardians… and talk to Thor…”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to have a serious team talk about what to do with Loki, if Thor _doesn’t_ show” Nick pointed out.

“You mean, whether we can risk trying to keep him detained or whether we have to kill him?” Steve summarised, bluntly. Clint and Sharon flinched a little at that, and Nat sighed regretfully – but Nick just stared him down.

“Basically.”

“You’re right, that’s a team talk.” Nat cut in, perhaps sensing that this was going to be a very delicate conversation, if it ever came to that.

 

Steve was reasonably certain that it wouldn’t. That Thor _would_ show up. But, if he _didn’t_ … there were other ideas. The fact that Steve knew exactly what happened to Loki, in another reality, how his little partnership with Thanos had ended… The vague idea that, if Steve could talk to him, he might actually be able to get through to even _Loki_ …

 

A far too controversial idea to bring up, right now.

 

“Second priority is making sure that portal never gets opened” Rhodey pushed the conversation on. “Keep the machinery from being built, destroying it before its used, blowing the building if we have to.”

“And if the portal does get opened, anywhere on earth, we have response teams ready to secure the areas and protect civilians.” Nat added. “We have our own response plans, and we have weapons ready to fire at that mothership – _without_ sending anyone through the portal with one.”

 

Steve nodded slowly, and tried to think if they’d missed anything. He could remind them not to fall for Loki decoys, not to let Loki put his hands on them and get into their heads, not to go near the staff… But they knew all of that. Steve had been running them through this story for years now.

 

They were as ready as they were going to be.

 

*

 

Steve remembered this bit from last time.

 

While everyone else was off running scans and evaluating scientific data, Steve had nothing to do but wander around and ready himself for a battle he hoped wasn’t coming. He’d spent the last hour watching the computer run a facial recognition scan for Loki, and feeling generally useless. But then, last time he’d responded by walking into Tony’s lab and picking a fight – over the fact that Tony was ‘recklessly’ investigating SHIELD, of all things… So, at least he could take some comfort in the fact that it was already going better than it had, the first time around.

 

It was with that in mind that he decided to stop in on Tony and Bruce now; just to enjoy the difference.

 

Seeing Tony smile when he saw him.

 

Noticing that Tony _wasn’t_ trying to goad a reaction out of Bruce… that Steve knew he obviously _wouldn’t_ be, that it would’ve looked so strange if he had been…

 

“How’s it going?” Steve asked, walking over to him.

“We’re just watching it run, really” Tony answered, with a shrug. “We did all the hard work on this months ago…”

“We’re already 90% of the way there” Bruce added, gesturing toward a screen. “Ten minutes, tops, and we should know exactly where the Tesseract is.”

 

Steve tried to feel reassured by that. It all felt far too easy…

 

And then his earpiece clicked softly into life.

 

“We’re too late” Sam informed everyone, soberly. “Selvig’s gone.”

 

Steve sighed. He’d changed his mind – he preferred too easy.

 

“So, we know that Loki has been in Chicago within the last few minutes-” Nat began, but Sam cut her off.

“No, we don’t” He sighed, heavily, like he was looking at something horrible. “Selvig was never transferred from the office – the secure location was deserted, and the office is full of dead agents. Whoever you spoke to this morning was-”

“Under Loki’s control” Nat finished for him.

 

Everyone on the team muttered _shit_ under their breath.

 

“He probably came here first.” Bucky went on “These bodies have been here a while.”

“That’s how he found the Tesseract in the first place” Steve realised aloud. “He had our agents under his control already.”

“Okay, so, he has the Tesseract, he has Selvig-” Tony started to summarize, but an urgent question had occurred to Steve.

“How much did you tell him?”

“Who? Selvig?” Nat asked.

“Or the agent you spoke to – if Loki has them under his control-”

“Only that we thought Selvig was at risk, and where to take him – and we’ve never told Selvig anything about this”

“It’s more of an issue that those agents have access to our systems” Nick reminded everyone, helpfully.

“Loki must know we’ve been planning for this” Steve spoke directly to Tony, although everybody heard.

 

“Okay, so Loki’s methods may have changed – but his overall goal probably hasn’t.” Nat reminded everyone, firmly. “If he’s made the same deal with Thanos, then we have the same priories – get the infinity stones back and make sure that portal doesn’t get opened. We don’t know what Loki is going to do next – but we still know who he is.”

 

Steve felt… better. He felt bad for that, obviously – but he _liked_ not knowing what Loki was going to do next. He liked the fact that he was just one of a team, trying to work this out…

 

In a way, that made it feel more like the first time than it would have, if it’d been exactly like the first time.

 

And then he felt Tony squeeze his hand, as if to remind him, _better than the first time_.

 

“So, our last confirmed location sighting of Loki was in Reykjavík… Two and a half hours ago” Steve sighed.

“I’m going to say he was in Chicago a good few hours before that” Bucky added, ominously. Steve felt uneasy, thinking of Loki having that much of a jump on them – of him having been on earth that long, before they knew…

 

But it was regular mission anxiety. Just like the first time around.

 

“So, he has the Tesseract, he has Selvig, he has at least twenty agents under his control now – and, looking at that list of names, he has access to all but the most secure systems, and probably a jet.” Nick summarised.

 

And then the lab machinery started to beep.

 

“We have a location on the Tesseract” Bruce announced, running over to one of the screens. “It’s in… Blackpool, England…?”

 

Steve could _hear_ everyone pulling the same surprised expression.

 

“ _Blackpool_?” Steve repeated, with a sceptical squint. He’d actually heard of Blackpool – Peggy had family that used to vacation there during the war. She’d made it sound like a quaint little seaside town. Certainly not like a potential target for Loki “What the hell would he want in-”

“Iridium ” Tony realised, aloud. Steve heard Nick sigh in recognition.

“There’s an old SHIELD bunker, not far from Blackpool – SHIELD in the UK have a habit of hiding things in little coastal towns, hangover from being evacuated there during the war, or something.” He explained, “But, yeah, that’d probably be the biggest store of Iridium , close to Iceland.”

 

“Why would he take the Tesseract with him, when he went to get the Iridium ?” Bruce asked

“He probably didn’t go to get the Iridium ” Steve suggested “He probably sent his SHIELD agents to do it – best guest, he’s going to crop up somewhere else entirely, any minute now, so that we can go and find him, and he can refuse to tell us where the Tesseract is.”

 

He heard Nat smile.

 

“Well, let’s go and get it first then.”

 


	23. The Battle of New York, pt 2

It felt a lot like picking teams for softball.

 

They knew they had to leave some capable people behind. If Loki _did_ decide to cause a scene somewhere, they couldn’t actually ignore it – even if they knew it was a decoy, they couldn’t leave innocent people standing in the way of it. As Steve had explained, several times, Loki thought nothing of slaughtering hundreds, just to ‘cause a scene’. Plus, to Steve at least, having _all_ of the Avengers run to a little seaside town in England sounded too much like something Loki would’ve planned. A way of getting them out of the way, or cornering them.

 

No one actually disagreed with this point… but no one interrupted Steve when he made it, _again._

Which just left the question of who was going to England, and who was waiting for Loki – or anything else that might crop up. Tony and Bruce were easy assignments; they were the people with the technical knowledge, the best chance of recognising and dismantling Loki’s set up. Iron Man and The Hulk would be going to Blackpool. And, really, that meant Steve should stay behind. It would be a better distribution of the team’s raw power, it would be one fewer enhanced individual sent off to the other side of the world.

 

Steve braced for someone to say it… but no one did. No one mentioned him _at all_ , as they moved on to allocating other people – a lot like when he used to play softball as a kid, actually…

 

The ‘management team’ – Nick, Maria and Sharon – would be staying in New York. They were needed to oversee bigger things than the individual missions, and they accepted they were less use in combat than other people were. Rhodey was staying behind too, but not in his management capacity; if Tony wasn’t going to be around, they needed someone in a suit, manning the skies.

 

With a hint of regret, Nat accepted that she had to stay at the helm for as long as possible. So, Clint would be the SHIELD expert with the Blackpool team, since there was every chance they’d come up against corrupted SHIELD systems when they got there.

 

Sam would stay in New York, to help bolster their defences. And, seeing as Steve would be in Blackpool, Bucky would stay put too – they needed at least one super soldier in each place.

 

Steve paused at the casual way his name had been thrown in at the last minute. For a second, he wondered if he’d misheard it.

 

“I’m going to Blackpool?” He queried, cautiously.

“Yeah, I don’t want too many of us stuck here dealing with Loki’s decoy – that sounds a lot like doing exactly what he wants us to” She replied, as though she’d rehearsed it “And, seeing as we’re actively trying to _avoid_ a code green, Tony’s actually taking a scientist and an unenhanced agent into what we _know_ is a combat situation.” She glanced at Clint, _no offence_ , and Clint just smiled “I would rather Tony was working on dismantling any machinery safely – I think you need more back up than that.”

 

When Steve looked up, everyone was nodding softly. Except for Tony, who was biting back a knowing little smile.

 

Steve realised, at least part of Nat’s decision was not wanting to split Steve and Tony up. Knowing that, this time especially, Steve wouldn’t _want_ to be separated from Tony. It may not have been the defining factor, but she’d clearly taken it into account. She’d taken Steve’s _feelings_ into account when balancing this… and everyone understood it.

 

In the first timeline, that wouldn’t even have been possible. Steve had never shared enough of himself for people to take it into consideration; they wouldn’t have known his anxieties to have been kind about them. And, as a younger man, Steve thought he’d preferred it that way. He’d deliberately engineered those circumstances, because he thought showing that side of him would’ve been showing weakness. He’d always assumed he’d hate it, if people had pandered to him like this.

 

But he didn’t hate it. And it didn’t feel like pandering. It felt like being _seen_ , it felt like he was no more or less important than anyone.

 

He smiled, gratefully, and nodded – okay.

 

*

 

 

Tony woke Bruce up with a playful kick, just as the jet began it’s decent.

 

“Rise and shine little monster.” He sang, as he brought the jet computers into life again. “We’ve got a scavenger hunt to finish.”

 

Bruce winced a little smile as he sat up, the back of his hair completely flat to his head.

 

“We got the final co-ordinates?” He slurred, rubbing his eyes.

 

And Tony took too long to answer, they all heard it.

 

“Tony?” Steve prompted, nervously.

“Hm? Sorry, no, it’s just – you get a more accurate reading on this thing the closer you are to the target… And the Tesseract is actually six miles away from the base where the Iridium is…”

“So they’ve got it stashed somewhere while they rob the Iridium…?” Clint suggested from the pilot’s seat, in a ‘ _I don’t see the confusion here’_ kind of a way.

“Yeah, but where they’ve _stashed it_ is right on the sea front – the tourist-y bit.” Tony carried on, bringing up a stock image of Blackpool Promenade as he spoke. A photograph of a crowded beach, lined with souvenir stands and arcades, intersected by a long wooden pier with a Ferris Wheel and a tower. There was a quaintness to it, a timeless quality… a feeling that this photograph could’ve been taken at any point in the last fifty years, if you didn’t squint too hard at it.

 

…It _did_ look like a strange place for Loki to base any part of his operations.

 

“Maybe he thinks we can’t go in too hard, if there are so many civilians around?” Bruce suggested.

“He might be right about that.” Tony added. “If the Tesseract is being guarded somewhere on _Blackpool Pleasure Beach_ , we can hardly start a firefight over it…”

 

The Jet came to a soft landing, the engines silencing almost immediately.

 

“Hey Nat, any word on Loki yet?” Clint asked into the air.

“Still no sightings, and no unusual activity reported” Nat answered, as though she was somewhat disappointed.

 

Steve bit his bottom lip. What the hell was Loki playing at…?

 

“Okay, so, first priority, get the Tesseract.” Tony announced. “We know where that is, and we don’t know what sort of defence Loki has set up, so I say we _all_ go.” Steve nodded his agreement, but Bruce frowned, concerned.

“What about the base where the Iridium is?” He asked “According to the system, it’s still there – shouldn’t we be going there to stop that robbery? I mean, there are still security staff at that site, and if Loki does get his hands on that much Iridium-”

“But there’s only one thing he’s going to use that Iridium _for_.” Steve cut in – because it was about the only part of this that he was sure of, anymore. Loki’s entire plan had altered under his feet, but the overall goal probably hadn’t. Nat was right about that. Whatever impact Steve might’ve had here on earth, it can’t have had too much effect on what Thanos was planning out there in space, or what Loki had decided years ago on Asguard. “If he _does_ make a play for it, or even if that’s what he’s doing right _now,_ we know we can stop his whole plan if we get to the Tesseract first. If we try to stop that robbery, or even if we _do_ stop that robbery – it won’t mean anything, if Loki still gets away with the Tesseract.”

“Plus, we don’t actually _know_ that he’s not already been there – we can’t trust what our systems are telling us, if he has SHIELD agents under his control.” Tony contributed.

“And the only alternative plan would be to split up.” Clint reminded everyone. Steve and Tony huffed an unimpressed little noise at that idea, and Bruce nodded, _yeah, okay, good point._

 

Tony looked over at Steve, and grinned.

 

“You ever been to a _pleasure beach_?” He asked, suggestively. Steve laughed.

“No. But I suspect it’s going to be a disappointment.”

 

*

 

By the time the team made its way along the seafront it was late afternoon in England, and the sun was already beginning to set.

 

The air was cold and bitingly fresh, the wind edged with a gritty, salty flavour. The shops and cafés that lined the beach had a sad, abandoned quality, like they knew they didn’t belong on a cold evening in February. This was obviously a place for the holiday celebrations, and the summer months, a place that seemed to have forgotten about February altogether until it happened to it. There were daytime attractions, now shuttered closed, and nightclubs that would open in a few hours… but nothing for a slowly darkening afternoon.  The few people that hurried along the beach had their hoods pulled up and their hands buried deep in their pockets. Occasionally they’d see a crowd of teenagers, gathered awkwardly at the entrance of an arcade or off brand fast food place. But, in general, everywhere looked fairly empty. Not _deserted_ , as may have suited some plans… but certainly not the throngs of people Loki usually played to…

 

Hm.

 

“I’m going to take a guess at where we’re going” Tony offered brightly, looking up from the display on his little tracking device– at the shadowy outline of Blackpool Tower, standing about half a mile ahead of them now. Steve took a second to consider it. It’d looked smaller in the photograph, sort of like an oversized Helter-skelter… In real life, it was a much more imposing structure. At least fifty storeys high…

 

“So, he’s using a different tower to open the portal…?” Bruce guessed, looking up with them. Steve’s frown deepened. He’d been prepared for Loki to change locations, he’d even been prepared for Loki to change plans entirely… but he still couldn’t see Loki picking right here, right _now_ , for his big stand…

“First, Blackpool Pleasure Beach, then, _the world_ ” Tony joked, as they carried on towards their target.

“Yeah…Seems unlikely….” Steve mused, nervously.

 

Then Nat’s voice came over their earpieces.

 

“Okay guys, Loki has been picked up on camera. In Washington, not far from the old SHIELD HQ”

 

Well, that was…

 

Steve wasn’t sure what that was. Where that information fit.

 

Not Germany this time… but then, this time Loki didn’t need to steal anyone’s eyeball – which was a plus, obviously…

 

But it was also so much easier for _them_ , now that they weren’t working out of a flying aircraft carrier. It was _convenient_ , the way Loki seemed to have stuck to the east of the United States, now that the team had a static base there…

 

“Well, that’s good for us at least” Tony suggested cheerfully. “He can’t be in two places at once, right?”

 

And Steve felt a little curling of doubt, deep in his gut.

 

“…Honestly, I’ve no idea.”

“Well, that’s an optimistic thought.” Clint quipped. And then he asked Nat directly. “Any idea what he’s planning?”

“At the moment, we aren’t exactly sure where he _is_.” Nat replied, uncomfortably. “Only that he _was_ spotted at the edge of a parking lot, maybe fifteen minutes ago – other scans of the area have turned up nothing.”

“So, are the others already on their way?” Steve asked, nervously.

“Sam, Bucky and Rhodey are already on their way to sweep the area.” Nat confirmed. “And we’re obviously scanning for any other activity.”

 

Steve bit his bottom lip. Washington sounded like a far more fitting place for Loki to set this whole thing up… but they _knew_ the Tesseract was here….

 

“Any sign of Thor yet?” He asked.

“Nothing yet, but we’re still looking.”

 

“You look unhappy.” Tony noted, when it seemed the exchange with management was over. Steve glanced over.

“Me?” He asked, instinctively, and Tony just rolled his eyes, _well, obviously you._ Steve gave his head a little shake. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“About…?”

“Just… whether Loki might be up to something we’ve not thought of…” He tried to find the words. Up ahead, the tower loomed much larger now. An ominous outline against the inky blue sky.

“You don’t want to go in?” Tony guessed, gesturing up at it.

 

And, honestly – no, he didn’t. Something about this felt… off. Almost… surreal…

 

But they _knew_ the Tesseract was in there.

 

They had no choice but to go in after it. There was no alternative plan, no other priority…

 

…or, if there was, Steve couldn’t think of it.

 

“I don’t” Steve sighed, “But I think we’re going in anyway.”

 

 

Blackpool Tower, as it turned out, was actually quite impressive when you were standing right beneath it.  

 

The tower itself was a steel and iron structure, similar to the Eiffel Tower, and stood at least 150 feet high. Built around the base was an enormous red-brick building, on which several unilluminated signs hung sadly, _The Blackpool Tower Experience!_ The ticket offices were shuttered closed, the gates were all padlocked and the windows were all dark. A few posters advertised that the attraction was basically closed until the summer…

 

But even so, it seemed awfully quiet.

 

It felt like it was far too easy to break into it – even ignoring the Loki factor. Even just thinking of this as a regular tourist trap… it should at least have an alarm, surely? An old guy patrolling the parameter with a flashlight? A sign warning them about guard dogs or security cameras or that trespassers would be prosecuted?

 

But, as Steve broke the padlock with a single blow from his shield, there was no response from the darkness. No mind-controlled SHIELD agents coming to find them, no sound of sirens… Tony threw Steve a worried glance. He knew it was odd, too.

 

But there was no alternative plan.

 

So, the four of them made their way up through the building, following directions from the device Clint had named ‘The 4T’ – for Tony’s Tiny Tesseract Tracker.

 

It eventually led them to an huge ballroom, with an ornate, painted ceiling and three tiers of gilded balconies – and a skeleton staff of six SHIELD agents waiting just inside the door.

 

Steve had knocked them all out within three seconds, obviously

 

“Okay, not going to lie, I’m quite turned on right now” Tony observed from the doorway, as Clint stepped forward to help Steve restrain the unconscious agents.

“You don’t have to lie – just don’t say anything” Clint suggested, in a mocking tone. The guy he was handcuffing groaned softly, but didn’t stir anywhere close to consciousness.

“Is that it, then?” Steve asked, checking another agent was still breathing before he cuffed her too. “That’s the security he’s left…?”

“No other life signs anywhere in the building” Tony offered, looking at his watch. And then he glanced back at the 4T. “And the Tesseract _is_ here…is…. _here…_ ”

 

He looked up, and his eyes caught on something over Steve’s shoulder. And then he frowned, concerned.

 

Steve clicked the cuffs into place, and stood up to look at the back of the room. There was a raised stage at the far end of the dance floor, framed by red velvet curtains and intricately carved golden columns. Sitting on that stage was an ugly, metal machine, completely at odds with the surroundings. From this distance Steve had to squint, but he could just about make out a large iron basket, sitting on top of a bulky grey container… which may have had wires coming out of the back of it, and may have had flickering lights on the front of it, it was hard to tell…

 

But Steve could see from here that this was _wrong_.

 

That this was nothing like the first machine… that he couldn’t picture how this strange contraption was going to do what Loki needed it to…

 

_But that must be what Loki needs it for…_

 

“Look, in the basket there” Tony said, taking another step into the room. He looked at Steve, and then back to the stage, pointing to…yeah, Steve could see it… the blue glow, behind the iron mesh…

“He’s just left the Tesseract in a basket for us to find?” He frowned.  

 

And then there was a startled little gasp from behind them.

 

Everyone turned, weapons raised, to find one of the agents desperately trying to scooch away from Clint. He was a young guy, probably mid-twenties, with a shock of bright orange hair and a very pale completion –

 

Although, judging from the look on his face, that might’ve just been trauma…

 

“Woah, buddy.” Clint soothed, showing both his palms – a set of handcuffs still dangling from one thumb. “Doesn’t have to be any trouble here-”

“What did you do to me?” The agent demanded, his voice trembling.

“Cognitive recalibration” Steve answered, purely to amuse himself.

“What?”

“Hit you really hard in the head” Clint clarified. It seemed to take a good few seconds for this information to filter through – and then the man took a sudden breath, his fear sharpening to alarm.

“Loki, he – He’s sent people to find… something, and – it’s going to be really bad, he didn’t tell us what, but-”

“Okay, okay” Tony intervened, walking over to sit on the floor beside him. “Take a deep breath, picture an ocean, whatever. It’s going to be okay.” He fixed the agent with a look, and the agent just stared back at him, terrified. “What’s your name?”

“J-James, James Stork.”

“James is a good name. I’ve got a lot of really good friends called James. Beautiful name, good, strong name you have there.” Tony told him. “So, obviously, I’m going to call you Storky.”

“Er…okay…”

“Right, Storky, I know things seem bad right now – but you’re safe now, and everything’s going to be fine, and before you know it you’ll be back home with whoever it is you go home to, and then you can work on getting over this. But _right now_ , I need you to focus up and help us, okay?”

“Okay.” Storky nodded, not sounding at all sure, but Tony pressed on regardless.

“Okay, I need you to think if you know any actual, specific details about Loki’s plan”

 

“The old guy – Slevig? Selvig? – he was working on that machine.” Storky pointed at the stage “And… I don’t know what it does, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good… And, um, the old guy took another ten agents, and went to get something, I don’t know what, but he needs it, to make that work…”

“ _Selvig_ went to get the Iridium?” Tony confirmed “The old guy is the one going to get these supplies, you’re sure?”

“Yeah” Storky nodded, more confidently. “’Cos Loki had to go somewhere else. He took everyone else with him, and he took the jet – but I don’t know where, or why-”

“Okay” Tony cut in, before Storky could spiral again “Do you know _anything_ about what that machine is? Anything you over-heard, anything you saw Selvig doing to it, anything…”

“…Er, he said not to move it.” Storky stammered. “The, uh, the blue thing, I think… Loki wanted to take it with him, but the old guy said not to move it. That it’d be fine where it was, but it’d be bad if he moved it…”

“…Do you know _why_?” Tony pushed, throwing concerned glances to the rest of the team. Storky just shook his head, miserably. Tony took a long, slow breath.

 

“Okay, you did great.” He assured Storky, standing up “I’m just going to need you to stay here for a little bit longer, while we figure this out-”

“I just want to go _home_ ” Storky whined, his eyes suddenly wet with tears.

“I know.” Tony sighed, sympathetically. “And, I promise, in a few hours, we’ll take you wherever you want to go, on the fanciest jet you’ve ever seen in your life. But right now, you just gotta stay put.”

“I know.” Storky whispered, sounding small and resigned.

“Just, do me a favour and keep an eye on your teammates, okay?” Tony suggested. “If any of them look unwell, or if anyone wakes up, just call us, okay?”

“Why, where are you going?” Storky asked, alarmed again.

“Nowhere.” Tony assured. “The back of the room, that’s all…”

 

And then he turned his attention to the rest of the team, bringing them into this plan.

 

“Bruce and I are going to have to get a look at this thing, try and figure out what the hell it is”

“What about Selvig?” Clint asked. And Steve saw Tony brace before he answered.

“I think you and Steve should go after them.”

 

There was a concerned intake of breath from the whole room.

 

“I thought we’d said no splitting up?” Steve reminded him, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I know” Tony exhaled. “But Bruce and I can’t go anywhere – we can’t risk moving the Tesseract if we don’t know what that machine is, and we can’t just leave it here unguarded. And we might need Selvig to work this out, so someone has to go and get him. Not to mention that he sounds like a nice guy who maybe needs rescuing. And, we’ve done a bio-scan of the whole building, and there’re no other life forms here…” He trailed off into a shrug “I just don’t see the alternative. We can’t all stay here and abandon Selvig. And we can’t all go there and abandon the Tesseract.”

 

Steve tried really hard to find an argument.

 

“Okay, but if you don’t answer your radio I’m turning around and coming straight back” He sighed.

“And you can literally run six miles in three minutes, so it’s not like that’ll be a problem” Tony reminded him. Steve managed a smile. And then he looked at Clint.

 

“Ready?”

“To the old army bunker!” Clint added, with mock excitement, just to make light of the situation. Steve could only sigh.

 

He didn’t have a lot of luck, with old army bunkers…

 

*

 

In the time it had taken Steve and Clint to walk to the end of the pier, Tony had already radioed in with two updates.

 

Steve knew he was doing it to keep him from worrying, so that he wouldn’t have to endure more than a few minutes of wondering if anything had happened. And Tony probably knew that Steve knew, but still, he played the part sincerely. Coming up with genuine reasons and talking about them properly. For those few minutes, Steve had felt more affection than anxiety.

 

But, the third time Tony spoke, Steve could hear the difference.

 

“Okay, so this is just a theory…”

“What is?” Steve asked, his step stuttering to a stop.

“…I’m just wondering if this tower _is_ the mechanism Loki is planning to use. I mean, instead of whatever Selvig built to harness the actual power of the Tesseract last time” Tony mused. Steve could so clearly picture him, squinting thoughtfully at machinery or screens, running his hand through his hair. “The thing is… It _does_ appear to be wired into the infrastructure of the building, and the coding that Selvig is using is… well, a lot of these notes are incomplete, or incorrect, but… I don’t know, I wonder if they might be on to something…”

“Why would Loki want to do that?” Steve queried, raising his eyebrows at Clint as they started walking again.

“Well, Loki didn’t pick Stark Tower _just_ to be a diva, did he?” Tony reminded him “He also used the arc reactor technology, you said?”

“Well, _you_ said that he’d used The Tower to generate its own energy, until the Tesseract took over…” Steve tried to remember how Tony had explained it, in the first timeline. He’d only talked about the technical details once, during one of the few friendly conversations they got to have before Steve found out the truth about Bucky… And, at the time, Steve had been more captivated by the _way_ Tony talked than by the science itself. More focussed on the way Tony’s eyes lit up than on any of the words he was saying. Too excited to be _having_ a friendly conversation with Tony Stark…too busy falling in love with him, to take in any of the details.

 

“Okay, so, fun fact for you – The Blackpool Tower generated its own electricity until 1924.” Tony chipped in, still sounding distracted.

“Why do you even know that?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.

“There was a poster about it at the bottom of the stairs” Tony informed him lightly, before he carried on “And, the thing is… Looking at what Selvig has written down here, I think he’s _trying_ to use this whole structure as a substitute for the arc reactor at the tower…maybe…maybe its just that he needs to use a lot more hardware, now that our tower is out of bounds…”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Not yet, no.” Tony huffed, sounding annoyed at himself. “Trying to use the Tesseract like _that_ … it’d be cutting edge science – you’re going to have to give me a few minutes to think about it, at least.”

 

Steve smiled again. Knowing Tony, he _would_ have worked it all out in a few minutes.

 

“Can you try not to do too much of Loki’s work for him, please?” Nat chipped in over the intercom.

“I’m not touching _anything_ until we can get Selvig here and hit him in the head.” Tony promised – again.

 

And then a familiar, static shiver ran up Steve’s spine…

 

The sky flickered. A single fork of lightning across the sky…

 

“Oh, great.” Clint observed, looking up. “And now it’s going to rain…”

“No, that’s Thor…” Steve answered gravely, stopping again.

“…You’re sure?” Clint frowned, and Steve just nodded – he could _feel_ the difference. A power he was connected to. He felt like, if he wanted to, he could call Mjolnir from here.

“If Thor’s here then so is Loki…” Steve realised aloud, a cold chill flooding through his veins.

 

“Well, okay, we know there’s no one else at Blackpool Tower, and Storky said he didn’t go with Selvig to get the Iridium. And he said he had gone _somewhere_ – so what else is there?” Clint asked, sounding more like he was trying to calm Steve down than actually find an answer.

 

And suddenly it all stuck him at once.

 

A blinding panic, more powerful than any lightning bolt, a cascade of memories and ideas that he couldn’t organise quickly enough to say them-

 

_Remember, Loki can be anybody_

_Remember, Loki is an illusionist_

_Remember, Loki is a trickster_

_Loki has access to all of our systems, he knows who all of us are, he knows we’re on to him._

_There is no arc reactor._

“Arg – Tony, can you hear me? That Storky guy _is_ Loki. Tony?” He shouted, his eyes locked on Clint.

 

No answer.

 

_Shit_.

 

Oh, Jesus, he was _such_ an idiot-

 

Loki _did_ need Tony to do his work for him – he always had.

 

His first plan had relied on Tony’s genius in building the arc reactor, he _needed_ Stark technology at the base of whatever else he wanted to do…

 

And Steve had been so busy defending the building that Loki picked last time, and preparing the city he’d targeted last time, and safeguarding against the tricks they’d fallen for last time – he’d _let_ this happen.

 

He’d personally overseen the collating of all of SHIELDs data, he was the reason Loki knew _all_ of their contingencies – the reason Loki had known to pick a new target in the first place.

 

He was so convinced Loki would make a scene, stage a decoy, try to infiltrate and manipulate the team – because he had _last time_. Steve was the reason that half the team were on a wild goose chase in Washington.

 

He’d led Tony Stark right to him, and he’d left Tony there, even though he _knew_ that Loki could be anyone and he’d _known_ the situation wasn’t right, and now Tony wasn’t answering his radio-

 

“He’s going to take control of Tony” He explained, as quickly as he could “He’s going to get Tony to build that thing for him”

“Run, I’ll catch you up” Clint answered, gesturing desperately, _go_.

 

And it was almost physically painful, not to immediately give in to the desperate urge to move.

 

“Wait” Steve bit out, his legs tensed to run, his mind racing too fast too keep up with. He was suddenly possessed of such overwhelming self-loathing and doubt, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to say anything ever again-

 

But he remembered that conversation with Tony, all those years ago. It had been a treasured memory for over a decade, a night he’d thought back to so many times… that evening, before anything was ruined, when Tony had let Steve into the workshop and spent a few hours explaining the science of the Tesseract – the many unique and wonderful qualities of Iridium.

 

“I _know_ the Iridium is important – Tony told me it’s crucial to the whole portal thing” Steve explained breathlessly “You have to go and save Selvig – _someone_ has to go and-”

“Okay, I got it, just _go_ ” Clint assured him, already moving in the other direction.

 

And then Steve was just running.


End file.
